


Were you ever here?

by Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire



Series: Were you ever here? [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Baz is doing the same for Simon, Baz wants Simon to be safe, Baz will be helping Simon with magic, Blood Magic, Dorks in Love, Dramatic Simon Snow, Dramatic Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Drunk Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support, Family Feels, Feelings start disappearing for Simon because his soul is disappearing, Fiona is helping Baz to look for Simon despite it being dangerous, Fiona isn’t afraid of the Coven if it means to help Baz and Simon, Fiona supports Baz’s decision because she loves him, Fluffy Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Friendship, Gay Simon Snow, Gay Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Gentle Simon Snow, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Holding Hands, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Kindness, Light mention of sex, Love, M/M, Mention of eating issues, Mentioned the Mage’s Men, Mild Blood, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Simon Snow, One part chapter 5 where Simon cuts his palm on purpose to see if he can still feel anything, POV Alternating, POV Fiona Pitch, POV First Person, POV Penelope Bunce, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow Friendship, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Friendship, Penelope Bunce is a Good Friend, Penny and Baz care about each other, Penny and Baz have bonded over their love to Simon, Pining Simon Snow, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Playlist, Protective Fiona Pitch, Protective Penelope Bunce, Protective Simon Snow, Protective Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Sacrifice, Sad Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Same goes for Penny, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Reflection, Simon Snow Loves Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon Snow is Gay for Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon cares about Baz while he still can, Simon is using his blood for blood magic, Simon is willing to sacrifice everything for Baz, Simon still remembers Baz, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Supportive Tyrannus Basilton ”Baz” Pitch, Temporary Amnesia, True Love, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Loves Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow in Love, Watford Eighth Year, Watford Seventh Year, What is a soul and what happens when it’s gone?, black magic, due to the spell, of sorts, there will be blood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire/pseuds/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire
Summary: I’m not entirely sure what losing one’s soul would involve exactly, but I know that Baz doesn’t have one.I would never use this spell. Even if it would give me an upper hand with the Humdrum. I’m the opposite of Baz. I’m meant to fight him in the War. I can’t be like him.“So I’d be a monster, just like Baz? Merlin and Morgana… Over my dead body.”
Relationships: Dev & Niall & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Fiona Pitch & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Malcolm Grimm & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Niall & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Were you ever here? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895119
Comments: 15
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist (Spotify): [Were you ever here?](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6xpaz35V6pnTvIS5LHoIL2?si=kOJfNddESLu9CTPssYcB7w)
> 
> All my love to [mybluebucketofsnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybluebucketofsnow/pseuds/mybluebucketofsnow) for being a supportive and wonderful friend and beta. 💙
> 
> The story starts out more whimsical than sad. But don't worry, more angst is coming our way.
> 
> There will be mention of blood.

## Spring Seventh Year

# SIMON

Baz is acting very suspicious. He hasn’t cursed me even _once_ this year. And he isn’t looking my way anymore, not even to sneer at me.

In fact, he treats me as if I don’t exist. He has switched his usual place in the dining hall and he is sitting as far away from me as possible during classes we share together. I tried to sit closer to him.

But then he swapped places with Gareth to front row right by the door. With Niall by his side and Dev right behind him. Like they are his damn armour, protecting _him_ from _me_.

I’m the one that needs protection. It’s unsettling and makes my skin crawl. 

Sometimes it seems like he is almost looking _through_ me. I want to scream at him. “Look at me, arsehole! I’m right here.”

But it won’t make any difference. I’ve tried getting his attention. I rarely see him in our room. He doesn’t sleep with me anymore. (I mean he doesn’t sleep in our room.)

There is probably a big luxurious bedroom, with a big bed, hidden in the Catacombs. Baz decorated it with red silks and velvet and various elegant scatter cushions (I’ve seen such at Agatha’s house), as the posh git that he is.

I can imagine Baz lying there every night, lavishing in his riches and plotting my downfall. Then he peacefully drifts off to sleep, under his posh blankets, in his posh silk pyjamas and his black hair sprawled across his posh pillow.

That’s what Baz is doing, while I’m in _our_ room, freaking out and losing my mind over him. (I mean over his _plotting_ against me.)

The few times, when Baz actually came to our room, I tried to block his exit, by standing right in front of him. To get any reaction out of him. The best I got was a polite “Pardon me.”, in a tone without any emotions.

While his gaze, though _on me_ , seemed miles away.

As if I was a random pedestrian he was trying to pass in the street. As if seven years between us never happened. As if I dreamed it all up. He wouldn’t even call me by my last name.

I always hated it when Baz called me Snow. Now I wish he would go back to that. I wish he would call me _anything_. It would mean that he actually acknowledges my existence.

This has to be his master plan. To make me lose all control. My magic keeps flaring up. I’m being kicked out during classes on a regular basis now. I don’t bother telling the teacher how it’s all Baz’s fault. I tried that after the first time I almost went off. 

“Are you saying that Basilton threatened you, Simon? _”_ Miss Possibelf asked me. She appeared genuinely concerned.

I was foolish enough to answer. “He doesn’t talk to me anymore. _”_ In my defence, it sounded much better in my head.

Miss Possibelf gave me a look I couldn’t quite understand and send me on my way, muttering something about _teenagers_ and how _flowers solved problems like these in her days_. (I didn’t get that at all. Flowers? Was it a spell?) And that was that. No teacher would take me seriously afterwards.

But lately, my magic is getting so out of hand, that even Penny is worried. (And she knows better than anyone how volatile my magic gets at times.)

She brings it up during dinner. I still couldn’t get over how lucky I am, being here at Watford, surrounded by magic.

Watford _is_ magic. Even the food is made with magic. I would _never_ give this place up if I can help it. It’s the only home I ever had.

Cook Pritchard made roast beef and I stacked my plate full, despite it being my fifth serving. Usually, I eat the most at the beginning of the term, since I spend each summer starving at the care homes.

Yet this year I’m _constantly_ eating. I’m so hungry all the time regardless of how much I eat. At first, I wondered if it might be my magic draining me. But I keep gaining weight so it can’t be that.

“Simon. You need to calm down. Is it the Humdrum? Have something happened?” Penny asks and she looks concerned. 

_Calm down?_ Easier said than done when your evil vampire roommate is plotting your downfall. I try to gulp down my food before answering but I’m probably just making it worse. 

Penny always nags me about talking with food in my mouth. ”It’s not polite, Simon.” But Penny herself is the least polite person I ever met.

Even compared to Baz. He is actually polite to everyone at school, except for me. I’m the only person he hates. (Besides the Mage.) But he is something akin polite towards me this year. (If you could call ignoring me polite.) It drives me mad.

“I have to know what he’s plotting, Penny,” I answer truthfully.

And just like that, all that concern drains from her face in an instant. Instead, she raises one eyebrow at me in question. 

“It that what it’s all about?” The similarity to Baz with that one gesture is horrifying and makes something inside my chest twitch uncomfortably. 

“Yes. What else would it be?” I ask but Penny keeps looking at me with that eyebrow raised. (Even higher now). So I go on.

“Baz is plotting something. He is going to try and take me down, I just know it.”

Sometimes I get cross with Penny even if I’ll never tell her that. She keeps asking for proof of Baz’s plotting. And she tries to rationalize _everything_.

“He hasn’t even cursed you once this year,” she says.

That’s proof in itself. I cheer up at that. “Exactly. That means he is too busy plotting something big.”

That should be obvious to anyone, especially Penny. She’s the smartest person I know. (Except for Baz.) In any case, Penny is definitely the smart one between the two of us.

“He has been ignoring me the whole year, Pen,” I add, just to make what I mean more clear to her. 

For some reason, Penny furrows her brow at me and I can’t quite understand her expression.

“And he doesn’t even laugh at me in class.” That’s a clue too.

At least I recognize that one face Penny is giving me now. She’s looking at me like I’m nuts.

“Do you _want_ Baz to laugh at you in class?” she asks. 

Where did that come from?

“What? No. Of course not,” I protest. “I’m just saying that is well suspicious.”

It’s like she can’t understand this at all.

“ _Simon_. You’ve been complaining for years about how annoying Basil is. How you wished for him to leave you alone. Correct?”

Does she always have to go for the _rational_ approach? Penny couldn’t be more difficult if she tried. Nothing about Baz is rational. But I can’t explain that to Penny. I can’t find the right words for her to get this. I still try to say _something_.

“Yeah - but - he -” I stammer. _Fucking Baz._

Penny cuts me off before I get to the point.

“ _No_ , Simon. You got what you wanted. Basil finally left you alone. You should be happy.”

Penny doesn’t get it. She never gets it. This ceasefire is unnatural. We can’t just do that. He can’t just do that to me. 

This could only mean one thing - Baz is up to something. And I have to figure out what he’s plotting. 

“But, _Penny_...” I’m well aware I’m winning now.

“You’ve exhausted your Baz quota for today, Simon.”

And with that, she goes back to reading her book. It’s not even for class. Penny reads for fun. And she thinks _I’m_ nuts.

That’s when I notice that it’s too late to go for one more serving. _Merlin_ , I’m still hungry. You’d think I haven’t eaten all day. My mood isn’t going to improve today, that’s for sure.

* * *

The next day I’m restless. I haven’t seen Baz all day. But it’s Saturday. He has his football practice soon. He can’t escape me there. 

I still come to all his games and every practice. He’s better than the rest of the team. He’s better at everything. Half of them just tumble around while Baz plays with purpose, strong and graceful that he is.

I want to prove that he’s cheating. Because of course, he is. That’s the reason I’m here three times a week. But he keeps distracting me by letting strands of his long hair fall in his eyes and on his cheek. He’s such a tosser. 

Baz doesn’t come to our room to shower after football anymore. (I’m still not sure if he showers in our en suite at all. His posh soap is still there. I smell it sometimes.) I think he goes to communal showers with the team. I thought of following him there but I doubt Coach Mac would let me in. 

Instead, I wait to see where he’ll go next, after the practice. I’ve been doing this for a while and still haven’t caught him. I know Baz is sneaking out somewhere to plot against me. I just don’t know where that is.

The practice is over. Baz hasn’t glanced my way even once. Not that I thought he would. He used to, especially during the fifth year. He looked at me a lot back then.

Sometimes he didn’t even have a sneer on his face. It was very strange. He was probably trying to distract me.

This is so much worse than the fifth year.

Back then Penny believed me. She still demanded proof of Baz being an evil plotting vampire. But at least she was willing to go look for said proof with me. 

At least at first. Now though. Now, Penny doesn’t take me seriously anymore. Not when the conversation turns to Baz. And that’s almost always the case. Sometimes she treats me as if I’m completely bonkers. I’m not. This is all Baz’s doing.

Penny and I were doing homework in the library when I brought up Baz’s plotting _again_. I’ve been trying to get through to her.

“I’m not going to help you stalk your roommate, Simon. This isn’t our fifth year.”

“But it’s worse this time around, Penny,” I’m practically yelling. “I know for a fact he’s plotting something.”

I could tell by Penny’s expression that she didn’t believe me. It was written all over her face, part exasperated part tired. I could even see it through her glasses. She has been looking like that a lot, recently. In any case, she still had the decency to ask (We are best friends after all.) “How do you know that?”

“He doesn’t shower in our room after football practises anymore.”

Penny let out a long sigh and looked at me funny.

“Can you even hear yourself, Simon?”

“What?” I had no idea what she meant by that.

Penny sighed again as if I was being the difficult one in this conversation.

“ _Simon_. Unless Baz shower habit“ _,_ she said _that part_ while rolling her eyes at me, “ presents a clear and present danger, you are not allowed to bring it up again.”

“It’s a clue to his plotting,” I answered. It was obvious. How was Penny not seeing this?

“Clear and present danger only.” Penny’s eyes were fierce behind her glasses. I knew better than to argue with her then. ”Besides we need a plan on how to defeat the Humdrum, Simon. We don’t have time for your antics.”

I chose to ignore that last part.

“What if Baz is secretly working with the Humdrum, Pen?” It was a valid question.

Penny looked as though she might consider it.

“Dead spots affect everybody. No mage alive would want to live without magic. Not if they love magic. Do you really think Baz wants all magic to vanish?”

I knew Penny was right about that so I didn’t answer her. I looked around for any sign of teachers and shoved another scone in my mouth.

We are not allowed to bring food or beverages to the library. But I was hungry. I’m always hungry but lately, I just can’t stop eating. I’m hiding food everywhere.

I knew that Baz loves magic, even more than Penny does. Baz probably loves magic as much as I do. I tried not to think about it though.

Agatha doesn’t love magic. Sometimes I wonder if she might even hate magic. Being here at Watford prevents her from going to school with her Normal friends.

Realistically, if anyone here at Watford would want the Humdrum to win, it would be Agatha. But she isn’t evil like Baz is, so I wouldn’t think about that.

I was just so annoyed with Penny, for always taking _his_ side. At first, I was worried that maybe Baz put her under his thrall. But Penny is too smart for that. And she isn’t the one acting weird. That’s just Baz.

He keeps slipping away from me. I was so sure that today if I waited long enough, I get to catch him leaving. I watched very carefully every single person who exited the changing room. I know Baz hasn’t snuck out with one of the others on the team. 

But it’s been over an hour. He must be done by now. I’m alone at the ramparts. It’s raining and my clothes are soaking wet.

I’m lucky that lately, I’m constantly overheating. Otherwise, I would have ended up with pneumonia ages ago. It’s been raining a lot last month. And I’m here for every practice and every game.

Maybe I should borrow Penny’s umbrella next time.

That’s when it hits me. What if there is another exit from the changing room I didn’t think about? I run as quickly as I can.

My shoes and trousers are probably ruined and I’m splashing muddy water all around me. I couldn’t care less. There is only one thing I care about right now. I have to find Baz.

I finally see it, a second door, meant for the staff. All this time Baz has been sneaking out to the Catacombs, while I was sitting on the ramparts waiting for him. 

I run for the White chapel, fuming with anger. Enough is enough. Baz can’t ignore me for much longer. Not when I finally confront him and reveal what he’s plotting.

My magic simmers uncontrollably around me. I’m not really paying attention to where I’m going and end up tripping over something in the Poets Corner and scraping my palms on a few stones and glass shards lying around.

When I lean against the wall to steady myself a door appears from nowhere.

I have been here so many times since the fifth year, following Baz to the Catacombs, and never had this door been revealed before. I look at my bloody palm. Must be my blood for some reason. 

I go and get Penny. She would never forgive me if I went through a hidden passage without her. Plus we have a no secrets pact. 

* * *

We go inside together. I couldn’t find a light switch and there are no windows. Penny spelled us a torch. I don’t think anyone used this room in a long time.

The floor is made of dark stone but it’s hard to tell. It’s wet and dirty, covered with rubbish. Crumbled pieces of paper, some are halfway burnt, shards of glass and pottery lying everywhere.

All the walls are covered in dust and cobwebs. 

It reminds me of a dungeon. I could see Baz luring me here to drain my blood or keep me as his prisoner. I don’t see any chains lying around though. He must have hidden them somewhere.

The room itself isn’t big. It looks even smaller since it’s filled with piles of books lying around haphazardly. Penny looks horrified. 

“Who would treat books this poorly?”

All I could think is that, at times, I really don’t get Penny. Her priorities are all screwed up. What _is_ important is to find out what Baz is plotting not who threw a bunch of old books in a pile.

“Those are just books, Pen. They don’t have feelings.”

Penny is getting too worked up about this.

“Simon. Even if you disregard the fact that all books deserve the utmost respect, on _principle alone_.” She is giving me her fierce look full of determination and a pinch of madness. I try not to shudder. “These books are _magic_. And magic is precious. Whoever has done this, couldn’t have cared much for magic.”

At first, I thought that maybe Baz lured me here under false pretences. But he knows me almost as well as Penny does.

He wouldn’t be stupid to try and lure me with _books_. Food or swords would have worked much better. Also, Baz loves books just as much as Penny does. And he is annoyingly tidy, too organized, nothing ever out of place. 

I’m pretty sure there’s something very wrong with him. (I mean aside from him being an evil vampire.) Baz wouldn’t have been able to just leave this big of a mess. He doesn’t handle messes well. He keeps calling me a mess. (Or he did when he still paid me any attention.)

I hear Penny saying “There are pages torn out. That’s just _barbaric_.” She looks positively livid.

_Oh._

I must have zoned out halfway through her book tirade. 

Penny spells the floor dry and casts **_“Clean as a whistle!”_ ** and **_“Out, out, damned spot!”_ ** around the books. She says she doesn’t dare to cast any cleaning or restorative spells on the books themselves, for fear of ruining them even more. “We don’t know what’s already been done to them.”

It annoys me to no end when Penny keeps ranting on and on about books. If she wasn’t so impatient with going through them all, to find a possible advantage against the Humdrum, she would never have stopped lecturing me on the _value of the written word._

“Everything we know comes from books. Without books, we might as well move back to caves and start sacrificing virgins for crops.”

I’m not sure that’s how it works but I just nod and eat my scone. I also want to say that Pitches probably sacrifice virgins for crops on the weekends despite having read lots of books. (Or is it the Grimms? Part of Baz’s family are farmers.) (Posh bastards.)

But I know better than to start _that_ conversation. Penny always talks with unbridled fascination about the former Headmistress. 

“Natasha Grimm-Pitch was a legend.” And then she dives into a tedious and lengthy illustration of Baz Mum’s _vast contribution to magic_.

The Mage says everything the Pitches stand for is wrong. And that makes it hard to listen to Penny sing prayers to the former headmistress. It makes Penny sound like a traitor.

I hate that. Sometimes it also sounds like what Penny says about Baz’s Mum makes a lot of sense. I hate _that_ even more. To agree with Penny on this would make _me_ a traitor.

I decide to leave Penny to her books and check the rest of the room for any traces of this being one of Baz’s secret scheme sanctuaries. It’s possible these piles of books were meant as misdirection. A plot to make me put my guard down.

There isn’t much furniture. A broken chair that reminds me of the chairs we use in classes. It could probably be one of them. (Weird.)

There’s a chest standing against the wall. Maybe that’s where Baz keeps the chains.

It looks old, made of dark rich wood, could be walnut, embellished with roses. There is even a coat of arms carved on the top. A bear walking right out of the sunrise.

The chest is beautiful and very posh looking. I wonder if it belongs to the Pitches. It makes sense. Although I wouldn’t have pegged Baz being the flower type.

I try to move it but it’s too heavy. It’s not locked though so I lift the lid instead. It’s filled with books (looks like older schoolbooks), no chains. ( _Yet_.)

I take them all out and see if there is anything that could be of value. A weapon or a clue of Baz’s plotting. There isn’t. The chest is completely empty. 

I wonder if Baz stashed anything between the wall and the chest to mislead me. I try to move the chest again, to see what’s behind it, but the bottom breaks off. Probably water damage has rotten wood out. 

A few rats are decaying nearby. They don’t look drained. Maybe Baz missed them. Or he just wants me to think that the chest isn’t his.

A locket falls to the floor as I move parts of the wood. I think there was a hidden compartment inside the bottom of the chest.

It’s beautiful. Rose gold with engraved roses around a ruby stone on the front and the same coat of arms as on the wooden chest, on the back. It hangs on a thin rose gold chain. (Not the chain I was looking for.) (But I was at least half right and that’s something.)

The locket probably belongs to Baz. Penny hasn’t seen it yet so I put it in my pocket.

She would make me give it back to Baz if she knew.

Or even worse, she would say “We don’t know whom the locket belongs to, Simon. You should leave it where you found it,” or something along those lines.

That is why, despite having a _pact_ , I can’t let Penny know about the locket. This is the biggest clue I have gotten thus far.

I can’t let her take it from me. I think there’s magic in it. It doesn’t feel like Baz. But I wouldn’t put it past him to have enchanted it just so I wouldn’t recognize his magic.

I sit down on the floor next to Penny. It takes a few minutes for her to notice me. It means she definitely hasn’t noticed the locket. _Thank magic_.

 _“All of these books are banned, Simon. I wonder who put them here?”_ Penny is too noisy. She can never leave a mystery alone. (And I use word _mystery_ lightly.) Nobody cares why there are books here. We don’t have time for this now. We’re yet to uncover Baz’s latest plot.

“Does it matter?” I’m well bored by now. “If the Mage ban them it means that they are all dangerous.”

Of course, Penny is not discouraged by that. She wouldn’t be Penny if she was.

“The Mage banned many old spells that are much better and more powerful than new spells. The old spells weren’t dangerous.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” I argue. Even though she probably does. Penny knows more about spells than any other seventh or even eighth year at Watford. (Besides Baz of course.)

Penny’s not easily swayed. Instead, she huffs at me and continues. 

“The Mage removed most of the magickal books from the Watford library. Did you know that, Simon? That’s why there are hardly any useful books left at school. I could learn more at home than here. That, if anything, is a true waste of magic.” 

I wish Penny would stop talking about the Mage like that. I’m at Watford because of him, _for snakes’ sake_. The Mage _saved_ me. 

“You shouldn’t say that, Penny. Everything the Mage does is for the greater good.”

Penny sighs. She’s been doing that a lot lately. But usually, it’s when I’m talking about Baz.

“We are allowed to criticize the Mage, Simon. This isn’t Nazi Germany.”

 _Merlin…_ Sometimes I think Penny hates the Mage just as much as the Pitches do. I don’t get it. He is _the Mage_.

He knows what’s best for us. I don’t bother telling _her_ that. Next thing Penny will be telling me _again_ how I’m “slightly brainwashed”. (Her words.) (And I’m pretty sure that _slightly_ was put in to soften the blow.) I really don’t want to listen to this. So I change the subject.

“Maybe we can find a good spell to incapacitate Baz? So he can’t bite anyone.”

“Simon. You have no proof that Baz is a vampire. You really need to give it a rest. We have more important things to focus on.”

“What is more important than Baz?”

Penny looks at me as if I’ve just grown a second head and goes back to the book she was reading. I really don’t get it.

“Are you done yet?” We’ve been here for what feels like forever and there is literally nothing important here. (Except for the locket.) (But there’s no need for Penny to know that.) “We are going to miss afternoon tea if you take too long.”

Penny doesn’t bat an eye at that. One of the many things I’m grateful for when it comes to Penny is that she never comments on how much I eat.

She comments on my _eating etiquette_ (the lack of one) but never on the amount of food I consume on a daily basis. Especially this year. Other people have noticed.

Agatha even commented on my growing appetite more than a few times.

In fact, lately, Agatha wrinkles her nose at me every time she sees me eat.

She told me I’m getting overweight. “We won’t look good for pictures during Spring Ball, Simon.

After the Winter Ball, it’s the most important day of the year.” (I told her that it doesn’t matter how we look in pictures. She said that I didn’t understand anything and wouldn’t talk to me for days after that.)

It should probably have hurt my feelings. And maybe if Penny said something about my weight, I would have been upset. But honestly, I have more urgent things to concentrate on. Baz is plotting something so big that he’s been losing weight rapidly.

I don’t know if it’s all the extra training he puts in on the pitch every evening, to sharpen his attack skills. (I’m forced to watch him from our window. He leaves immediately if I come to the ramparts.)

Or if it’s the fact that he keeps disappearing (to plot against me) and misses far more meals then he attends. (Both lunch _and_ dinner.)

I think it’s the latter though because I’m not really sure how being good at football can help him to take me down.

“You know, Simon. It’ll go faster if you help,” Penny says.

“Fine.” I really hope we won’t miss afternoon tea because of this. My stomach starts to ramble at the thought of food. As luck has it, there is still one more scone left in the pocket of my sweatshirt. Agatha’s sweatshirt. It says WATFORD LACROSSE on it.

I wear it a lot because Baz hates it. He probably wishes Agatha would have given it to him instead. Not if I can help it. It’s still too tight even after Penny spelled it bigger. (There are limits to magic.)

Agatha says I look ridiculous. But this isn’t a fashion statement. This is a _Fuck you_ to Baz and he knows it.

I start checking the books. Penny gives me a horrified look.

“ _Great snakes_ , Simon. You are leaving crumbs everywhere.”

“So?” I ask with my mouth full and more crumbs fly out from my mouth.

“Those are century-old books. Show some respect.”

Penny always cares about things that make absolutely no sense to me.

“They aren’t alive, Pen. I doubt they’ll mind.” I try to lighten the mood.

That apparently was the wrong thing to say. Penny gives me one of her mastered exasperated looks. She uses them on me a lot. It’s usually about Baz though.

“Honestly, Simon. You are the most powerful magician alive. How are you not taking this more seriously?”

What am I to answer to that? Books make me feel dumb and a useless failure. That no matter how hard I try, I will never be good enough. I can hardly concentrate on what I’m reading at the best of times.

Don’t get me started on how poorly it goes when I’m thinking about what Baz’s next plot will be or his stupid black hair. (Ha! _When?_ ) (When am I _not_ thinking about Baz?)

Books actually make me think of Baz, with his top marks and flawless elocution in four languages. _Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is perfect._ Never a hair out of place. (How is that even possible?) 

_God_ , I hate him so much. Baz is the only person who makes me swear like a Normal. (I hate him all the more for it.)

Why was it always books with Penny? “I just don’t like books, Pen. Not like you do.”

I don’t add that the only person I know, that loves books as much as Penny does, is Baz. Penny already complains that I talk about him too much as it is. It’s not my fault that he always gets on my mind. (I mean on my nerves.)

Finally, I manage to find something useful. There is a book filled with various blood oaths and rituals. 

Penny doesn’t like blood magic. She says it’s unpredictable and no one knows what happens to places where magicians spill their blood. “If you’re as good as your word, words should be enough.” That’s Penny’s standard answer. No point in arguing with her.

But that’s the thing, innit? I’m shite with words. Allway has been… always will be… I don’t think Penny is being purposely condescending.

Penny knows me better than anyone else but sometimes she just can’t see my side of things. She is so set in her own ways.

Theoretically, she knows that I grew up Normal. But I think she just assumed that I have assimilated by now because magic is in my DNA. Like it’s that easy. I haven’t and it’s not for lack of trying. 

What comes naturally and feels normal to every magician, doesn’t come naturally to me. Half of the time my spells don’t even work. Another half they misfire in the worst possible ways.

They also tend to go literal. Makes my spell casting a liability at best, real danger at worst. It still works sometimes, when I’m calm and can properly concentrate. But that’s a one in a hundred chance at best.

Baz keeps saying — “It takes more than magic to make a mage” _._ I hate how I sometimes agree with him. I’d rather throw a punch at him and pretend that what he said isn’t true.

I love using blood magic. It’s easy. It’s the only magic that _always_ works for me, effortlessly, no matter what. I can be angry to the point of almost going off and it will still work.

_Every single time._

It comes naturally to me. Blood magic makes me feel like a real mage. Going off does that too. But well, that’s far more painful and I have no control over it whatsoever. Blood magic I can control.

“Penny. I think I found a way to stay one step ahead of the Humdrum,” I say.

“Nicks and Slick. That’s amazing, Simon. This - ” Penny says with emphasis on the word, “- is what you should be putting your mind to.” I know exactly what, or better, _who_ she means I should stop thinking about. Never going to happen so I pretend like I didn’t notice. It’s easier that way.

I show Penny the page I’m on. It’s a blood ritual for concealment. If done properly no magic would be powerful enough to track you.

You’d become virtually undetectable. The Humdrum wouldn’t be able to summon me and I might have a chance to sneak up on it.

There are other rituals here as well, for tracking. Perhaps I could track the Humdrum without its knowledge.

“With this, we’ll have a bigger chance against the Humdrum. It wouldn’t have time to guard itself with magical creatures. It wouldn’t have time to defend itself if I could catch it off guard.” I’m beaming at Penny now.

Penny takes the book from me and reads through the entries. A few minutes later she puts it down with a long regretful sigh.

“You can’t use this, Simon. You’ll lose your soul. I should have known it was too good to be true. Something as powerful always comes at a cost.” 

So the spell is useless. I’m disappointed and finally lose all interest in these books. (There wasn’t any, to begin with, if I’m being completely honest.)

“I’m sorry for getting our hopes up, Pen. Should have checked more carefully,” I say because I feel guilty.

“It’s okay, Simon,” Penny says and I know she means it. She never gets angry with me for not understanding something or not reading things properly. “I wonder who these books belong to. I don’t think they are from the Watford library.

Blood rituals haven’t been a part of the school curriculum since the early nineteen hundreds. And most of them were banned due to dangerous side effects. That was _before_ the Mage, so you know it’s true.”

How does Penny even know that? And why does she have to talk about the Mage with so much disdain? 

I’m not entirely sure what losing one’s soul would involve exactly, but I know that Baz doesn’t have one.

I would never use this spell. Even if it would give me an upper hand with the Humdrum. I’m the opposite of Baz. I’m meant to fight him in the War. I can’t be like him. 

“So I’d be a monster, just like Baz? _Merlin and Morgana_ … Over my dead body.”


	2. Chapter 2

## Seventh year

# BAZ

I’m spending this school year in complete agony. As per usual Simon Snow is at fault. Well, that isn’t quite true. It’s me who’s at fault, no one else. But it is because of Snow. 

Every year I come back to Watford and foolishly believe that this would be the year Simon realizes Wellbelove is all wrong for him and falls in love with me instead.

You’d think I gave up this buffoonery years ago. I haven’t. And I call _him_ a moron.

But the golden couple has been having troubles, more than usual. Wellbelove has never been too keen on putting herself in danger for Simon. (Imagine that.) And Snow stumbles upon danger everywhere he goes.

That gave me hope. I thought that maybe, just maybe, Simon would wake up one day and realise that he likes me. I know that I’m good-looking.

There is a lot of my Mother in my features. (We’re from the Egyptian branch of the Pitch family.) And everybody always said she was beautiful.

(Powerful and brilliant too!) (Mother wasn’t _just_ a pretty face, not like Wellbelove.)

I’m very meticulous about the way I look. I never leave my room without making sure everything about me is pristine. I wasn’t making myself pretty for him necessarily.

What can I say, I prefer to look nice and put together for myself. It gives me a certain feeling of control of my own life.

Not to sing myself too many praises but I’m also both smart and powerful. (I’d like to think that would have made my Mother proud.) I kept casting more spells than strictly necessary in class to impress Snow. 

I never hurt anyone despite being a vampire. That should mean I’m not as despicable as he thought I was.

Snow knows I never hurt anyone. (Not a single person had disappeared from Watford during the years I attended school.) I think I have a good sense of humour, if slightly morbid. (I make Niall laugh a lot.)

In any case, I suppose I thought that there was something about me that would make Simon notice me. That I had a chance with him, however small.

Nevermind that Snow is very straight. (I hoped I was wrong on that part.)

Those illusions shattered like a crystal vase on the marble floor at the beginning of this term. According to a few boys in our year, Snow is going to make time stop as his magickal proposal to Wellbelove.

I don’t bother with idle gossip. But my vampire hearing makes it too easy for me to overhear when the conversation turns to Snow. (It’s less pathetic than it sounds.)

There is no possible way to describe the shock I experienced upon hearing that. Realistically I was well aware that Simon would marry someone one day. However, I was desperately clinging to the idea that he would choose me and propose to me and not Wellbelove. 

Simon Snow had ample opportunities to fall in love with me. He hasn’t and after hearing the “good news”, I finally gave up pretending there could be a happy ending for Snow and me.

The moment he decided to proposes to Wellbelove was the final straw - Simon was lost to me forever. Any possibility of _us_ went up in flames. (I wasn’t the only flammable thing, to begin with.)

Snow isn’t the one to ever back down from a challenge. It’s practically a done deal. I knew that much.

All these years I suffered in solitude. I never felt comfortable opening too much to others. I’m not sure whether this is due to childhood trauma of watching my mother die in front of me or my Father never showing me any real affection. But this recent situation I found myself in was too hard to handle.

The shock was starting to wear off and the open wound that was my whole undead heart was too painful to manage on my own. And it was of utmost importance for me not to spend the weekend in the same room as Snow.

I didn’t need him witnessing my nervous breakdown. (This time I might have started to cry _before_ he fell asleep.) (I’ve always waited until after for that.)

Thank magic for my aunt. Fiona magicked a phone for me to use at Watford. (The Mage banned phones. Possibly so we couldn’t let our families know what was going on at school.)

I called my aunt and spent the remaining of the weekend with her in London. Fiona had long suspected I had feelings for Snow. I never said anything specifically, but my aunt wasn’t stupid. 

She did notice something was terribly wrong the moment she picked me up outside of Watford’s gates. I had no energy to look even slightly composed. The mask was slipping. Fiona, _bless her_ , got me sozzled first, then started on with her interrogation. 

“What has the Mage’s Heir done this time, Basil?” She asks putting a fag between her lips and offering one to me.

My aunt lets me smoke even though I’m flammable. Fiona trusts me to know my own limits. (I wasn’t too drunk _yet_.) 

I take a deep drag and try to calm myself down.

“Oh. Nothing much. He _is_ , however, planning a magickal proposal to Wellbelove,” I spit out even though I’m trying to keep my voice flat. 

Fiona raises her eyebrow in partial disbelieve. ( _Yes_ it’s the eyebrows in our family that show real emotions.)

“You are handling this better than I thought.”

“It’s worse than it seems,” I answer because there is no reason to pretend otherwise.

Not when I’m with her. My aunt actually cares about me. I can be myself with her, or as much as I’m capable of. (Years of playing emotionally “dead” has left me damaged.)

“Didn’t I tell you, boyo? You were wasting your time on that one. You need to let him go once and for all. Your heart is too good for him.”

“My undead heart is far from good as you can get. Black as coal would be a more suitable description.” 

Fiona huffs at me. “Stop being melodramatic, Basil.”

“I am not, “ I say but maybe I am.

“You, Basil, are a stubborn little brat who thinks he knows everything. Doesn’t change the fact that you are a good person. And don’t you let anybody, _especially_ The Chosen One, tell you otherwise.”

We spent the rest of night drinking and talking. (I can only assume.) I was slurring my words halfway through the night and woke up with a partial blackout.

_Aleister Crowley._

I haven’t been _that_ drunk since my fifth year. That was the year I finally realized Snow kept breaking my heart. (I haven’t noticed before.) (I’m what you’d call slightly “out touch” with my own feelings.)

* * *

Before we drove back to Watford on Sunday evening, Fiona suggested using **Look at the bright side** and **Out of Sight, Out of Mind** on me.

Both are good spells and they are stronger as a combination. But they won’t work on someone _in love_. You’ll get over a random fancy, even something stronger if one has enough magic. But there are no spells powerful enough to help you get over someone you love.

“It won’t work,” I tell Fiona. 

“It couldn’t hurt to try,” she argues because she wants to help. But I know my aunt already suspects why it won’t work. I might as well tell her. This wasn’t exactly a secret I was keeping from _her_.

“Believe me when I tell you that it will _not_ work,” I say and hold her gaze. 

Just for a second, Fiona looks helpless. I can see it in her eyes. (My aunt loves me.) The next she is all determination and fire. 

“We get through this, Basil. I’ll find a way. We are Pitches. And Pitches don’t break.”

When did _this_ become a “we” problem, I want to ask. (I don’t because my aunt means well and that is all that matters.)

I don’t bother telling Fiona either that despite being Pitches, she and I have both been broken since that day at Watford nursery, the day my Mother died.

 **Out of Sight, Out of Mind** stack with me. The phrase, in its literal sense, not the spell. It gave me an idea on how to proceed in the light of recent revelations. Watching Snow sleep every night wasn’t doing me any favours.

The right solution to this particular problem was distance and not only through the night.

Whatever could substitute for real distance given that Snow and I attended school together. It was a good start regardless and it required providing more suitable sleeping arrangements.

* * *

I came out to Niall and Dev that night.

“I’m gay,” I declared with some trepidation. I didn’t think they would turn on me for being queer but you never know. Father didn’t accept me and I was his own flesh and blood. (Or as much as I could be given what I am.)

Niall gave me a bored look and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

“We appreciate you telling us, mate. But you weren’t exactly hiding it.”

“You knew?” I did manage to keep my composure at least. _How could they have known?_ I never flirted with anyone in front of them. I never flirted with anyone at all.

I don’t even know how to flirt. Not really. Unless you count whatever it was Simon and I were doing, as flirting. For a long time, I did. (I was clearly mistaken.)

“Just look at you,” Dev said and waved his hand in front of me. 

_That is a stereotype_.

I didn’t bother telling him that. My cousin isn’t what you’d call an overly intellectual person.

According to my aunt, none of the Grimms are. I’m not sure if that’s true or simply Fiona being Fiona. (She doesn’t like my father and, by extension, the rest of the Grimms.)

Niall sneered at Dev for that particular comment. There is a reason he’s my best friend.

“Occasionally your eyes linger on certain blokes,” Niall continued. “ _Some_ more than others,” He added pointedly lifting his eyebrows.

All the blood I had in my body, rushed up to my cheeks and ears. I did _not_ know that. I didn’t need to know that.

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” he tried to reassure me.

But I was positively mortified. Niall noticed because of course, he did.

“You’re at least subtle and it’s completely undetectable to an untrained eye. Dev here, on the other hand, ogles girls practically with his mouth hanging open.”

“Must be Grimm blood,” Niall added as an afterthought and laughed. 

Dev predictably took offence and the conversation steered away from me. Just the way I prefer. I don’t like being the centre of attention. I’m not Snow.

He just has to stop and smile at and talk to every single adoring fan. I sound jealous. (I am.)

Not of Snow having fans. (Why wouldn’t everybody adore him? He is adorable.) (Though that isn’t why they all want to be close to Snow. It’s his magic. They are all addicted to his magic, not to him.) (I’m addicted to _him_.)

I’m jealous because I’ve never been on the receiving end of Snow’s smile.

Out of every student here at Watford, I’m the only one not good enough for him to smile at. It’s because he knows what I am.

It’s because I don’t actually deserve anyone smiling at me, especially not Simon. He is too good, too alive for someone like me.

Snow probably thinks I spend every night in the Catacombs sleeping on the stone floor amongst the dead and the rats or possibly in a coffin.

What else is there to do for a repulsive creature of the night?

I didn’t mind him thinking that about me. Did it hurt that Snow saw me as nothing but a monster? It did. But Snow thinking I was sleeping in the Catacombs made it easier to avoid him during the night. 

The reality was much less dramatic. Niall, Dev and I broke into a storeroom, where the nurse kept old equipment and stole a mattress. No one has noticed.

I spelled it clean and squishy enough to sleep comfortably on the floor. We sneaked out one of their study desks and pushed their beds closer, to make room for my makeshift bed by the wall. That way I got a bit more privacy and wasn’t disturbing them with my odd hours.

Niall and Dev welcomed me to their room with open arms. And that is not a small accomplishment considering their living quarters consist of a very small room. (Much smaller than the one Snow and I shared).

I’m lucky to have them as friends.

Since my unofficial move to Dev and Niall’s room, I’m sure they suspected I might have genuine feelings for Snow. Yet they haven’t asked any unnecessary questions. They acted as though me moving in with them was completely normal. Good men. 

Despite the room being small and cramped, I still feel freer here than in the bigger room I shared with Snow.

However, I experienced a horrifying first morning when I almost choked on the scent of Dev’s perfume. (And I use word scent _symbolically_.)

AXE. Can you imagine? There are times I’m not quite convinced we are related.

I have no idea how Niall had managed for so long. I don’t use any perfume myself, so I had to dab a few drops of my shampoo on the back of my cushion to suppress the stench. ( _That_ is the correct word for that atrocity.) Still, I breathe better here than in my old room with Snow and his magic. 

Speaking of Snow’s magic, it’s been flaring up more than usual. I know, I’m the reason for that because Snow thinks I’m plotting. Because that’s what people do during class - they plot. (Snow is an idiot.)

I couldn’t care less about Snow’s troubles with his magic. (That’s a lie I tell myself.) I care far more than I should. That’s doing neither of us any good. I need so much more distance from him.

I only come to my old room to get something I need for a few days and leave what I don’t need at the moment. (Dev and Niall’s room is too small to store all of my things.)

Besides I’m trying to keep up with the appearances of me still living there. (It’s against the rules to switch rooms.)

I had to buy doublets of every hygiene product I use. Fiona paid for that. (Father still thinks I’m spying on Snow every day for the Families.) 

Fiona has been very involved in my everyday life, more than is socially acceptable. (I think.) (I don’t really know how “family” works.) I should’ve known that when Fiona told me “we get through this” ( _this_ being my broken heart,) she meant that she will insert herself in everything there is.

She keeps texting me at all hours. And I don’t mind that specifically. (My mobile is always on silent since we are not allowed to have phones.)

I just think it’s a bit much. Fiona gets too many odd ideas and feels the need to share them all with me.

_September 29_

**Fiona (02:16):** Made you an account on Match.com. 😍 What do you think?

 **Baz (02:24):** In case you weren’t aware of this, I’m still underaged. You should be asleep by now.

 **Fiona (02:26):** Don’t be a twat. 

**Fiona (02:27):** I magicked your Identification, Basil. You’ll be turning eighteen soon enough anyway.

 **Fiona (02:28):** Couldn’t sleep and I wanted you to read this when you woke up.

 **Baz (02:33):** **_Needed: Fit (not necessarily smart)_ ** For snakes’ sake, Fiona!

 **Fiona (02:34):** You need to keep your priority straight, boyo. In a manner of speaking 😜

 **Baz (02:35):** Not a chance in hell. Besides Father would disown me if he saw this.

 **Fiona (02:36):** Malcolm isn’t exactly a technological wizard is he now? What would he even be doing on Match.com? That’s a site for Normals. And he’s married. 

**Fiona (02:37):** And if Malcolm does see it, I will tell him that it was meant as a laugh. I’ll tell him that I created the account without your knowledge. I’d swear with magic to that if I have to.

 **Baz (02:38):** Precisely. What am I doing there?

 **Fiona (02:39):** I’m not asking you to marry one, Basil. 

**Baz (02:39):** I don’t have time for this.

 **Fiona (02:40):** Want me to pick one and arrange a date at a pub or my flat?🥃🧊

 **Baz (02:41):** Pick one? You aren’t talking about ice-cream, Fiona. Have you gone completely mental at your age?

 **Fiona (02:42):** Oi. I’m not even forty. Don’t be a little git. It’s unattractive. 

**Fiona (02:43):** Have some fun, Basil. Or are you allergic to fun? 😂

 **Baz (02:45):** This is not happening, Fiona. 

**Fiona (02:46):** We shall see about that.

 **Baz (02:47):** I’m being serious.

 **Fiona (02:47):** So am I, Basil.

 **Baz (02:50):** I need to get ready. It’s almost 3 a.m.

 **Fiona (02:51):** Go. Get ready for the day. But we are not done.

 **Baz (02:52):** We are. Go to sleep, Fiona.

  
  


_November 30_

**Fiona (06:14):** I’m getting you a cat.😼

 **Baz (12:08):** Why would I want to drain a cat?

 **Fiona (12:16):** As a pet, you numpty.😻

_February 24_

**Fiona (24:01):** Happy birthday, Basil! 💙🌸🎉 Got you firefighter’s new calendar.💝Check out Mr. March.💪🏽🍆

 **Baz (01:37):** I don’t need that!

 **Fiona (01:38):** Why not? Can come in handy 🛁

  
  


This is my life now. Fiona getting the weirdest ideas and offering random blokes to me. (She has been sending pictures too after that first conversation.) I do appreciate the sentiment but not the actual deed. I’m not interested.

Everything would have been easier if I was. Unfortunately, the only person I am interested in wants nothing to do with me. (Well he is interested in killing me. However, I doubt that counts as the beginning of a beautiful romance.) Sometimes it feels as if I’m the mental one. I’ve been having a hard time functioning properly.

I do have a system to stay _sane_ , to get _through_ this year, and it’s working. At least it’s not getting worse. (I think.) 

For the most part, I feel as if Snow is burning me alive. He has been watching me like a hawk all year. Snow is very persistent.

The more I keep away the more he hunts me. At times I feel like a cornered animal. Like I’m the rabbit and he’s the vampire. That no matter what I do or how far I try to run, he will pull me back in.

This is worse than the fifth year. But at least I am more prepared on how to deal with it this time around. 

I stopped fooling myself that his stalking meant anything other than hate and disgust. Snow was never going to fall for me. I’m the monster with no soal, bound to walk this earth alone and unloved. 

Yes, I’m well aware, I’m being dramatic. Fiona loves me. Niall and Dev care about me. Even my Father cares in his own way. (If for no other reason than because he loved my Mother once.)

There were times when I fantasized about Turning Snow. He would have loved me if we were both monsters. But I could never do that to him. I could never take Simon’s soul. I love him too much for that. 

Snow will never love me. I came to terms with this particular truth. I would like to say that it made this whole debacle easier for me. It didn’t. He kept breaking my heart over and over again even when I couldn’t see or smell _him_ , his blood and his magic.

Dev and Niall live on the second floor. It’s a breath of fresh air. It still doesn’t help. Not really. (It keeps me sane _enough_.) (It keeps me from doing something stupid like professing my feelings to him.)

“I’m hopelessly in love with you, Simon. Please love me back.” 

_Crowley._

Pitches don’t beg. We don’t humiliate ourselves in front of others either, especially if those others _hate_ us. 

* * *

I have to be very careful with how I go about my day. There is no room for improvising. I’m not Snow. His answer to every problem is stammer his way through a conversation and then just _wing it_.

I take my daily rituals as seriously as I take my education and my personal appearance. (Impeccable on both accounts, thank you very much!) Still, disentangling myself from Snow is an uphill battle. 

Every morning I wake up uncharacteristically early. Morning is too much of a stretch. I wake up at least three-four hours before breakfast starts and spend a very long time in the shower.

I use communal showers at Dev and Niall’s floor. That early the showers are still fully deserted. After spelling the door shut and casting a silencing spell, I enjoy a piece of privacy. 

I don’t freeze as much during the night, as I used to since my friends never sleep with the window open. (They aren’t made of _fire_ like Snow.) But I’m still cold most of the time. (It’s been a difficult year.) I warm myself up in the shower as much as I can.

At first, I desperately tried not to think about Snow at all. That never worked. So at some point, I had to give up. Showers at 3 a.m. became my safe place to let Simon in, only there and then. 

I let myself think of —

Blue eyes.

Bronze curls.

The most beautiful boy in the world.

— and let the desire for Simon to take over all of my senses.

At that moment I let him break me in every possible way. 

He is breaking me already.

_Every single day._

As soon as I exit the showers I’m back to my rule of _not_ thinking about Snow. (Trying not to think might be more accurate.)

While Niall and Dev eat, I get myself a cup of tea and we chat amongst ourselves. Even though the three of us share a room, we mostly see each other during breakfast and afternoon tea.

I don’t indulge myself anymore in looking at Snow. 

I can’t even watch him eat. Although Snow’s eating habits are atrocious, it doesn’t change the fact that I desperately want to kiss him. Nothing Snow could ever do will make me _not_ want to kiss him. Except for him doing Wellbelove. Possibly not even then. (Because I’m disturbed. Ask anyone.) I do prefer not to imagine _that_ though.

Every day I can feel his gaze on me in the dining hall. It’s putting me ablaze. Snow hasn’t tried to sit next to me during meals. (Thank magic for that.)

However, he did try during class. I would have done anything for Simon to want to sit with me for the right reasons. But Snow doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t want me. He will never _want_ me.

_Why do you need to continue torturing me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?_

Without even realizing it himself, Snow is tearing me apart. Pushing a stake through my heart would’ve been more merciful than this. 

I had to bribe a classmate with a spellbook on creating your own magickal artefact, in order to trade places during class. (His own magical instrument is a belt buckle.) ( _Crowley!_ )

The only reason offering a magickal book even worked is because the Mage removed magickal books from the Watford library. He needs us _stupid and weak_. Unfortunately, I’m wasting a good book on this boy. He is terrible at elocution. Not as terrible as Snow. No one is. Snow is one of a kind in more ways than one.

Snow still tried to get close to me. Thankfully I had Niall and Dev.

They became my buffer, a guaranteed Snow-free zone. Teachers kept kicking him out from classes. Snow was on the verge of going off a few times. I don’t want him to go off, I don’t want him hurt. But I can’t do anything about that, now can I?

The only way I could solve Snow’s biggest problem - _me_ \- is using **_“Tyger, tyger, burning bright”_ **on myself.

But I think Mother would have been more ashamed of me not finishing my education than me being a vampire. (At least I hope.) (I’ve never hurt a person, human or otherwise.)

And I’m sure Snow would prefer to finish me off himself. The golden hero has to shove his sword right through the monster’s heart in front of all the villagers so they can cheer and celebrate.

Snow had a lot of practice in slaying creatures, not all of them were dark. Not sure he even sees any difference. The Mage managed to mould him into the perfect little soldier that he is. 

I am well aware that I’m not being fair to him. Simon has nightmares about things he’s done. He doesn’t enjoy killing, not yet at least.

I’m sure the Mage will take care of that part of humanity in him sooner rather than later. I wonder if killing me will feel different for him. I wonder if Snow will see me as a person, or simply another dark creature that needs to be put down.

I’m not happy about Simon being kicked out from classes and missing out on his education. But it isn’t my job to care about him. Let the golden princess worry about Snow. (She won’t.) (That isn’t my problem either. Not anymore.) He chose her of his own volition. No one _forced_ him to.

Wellbelove doesn’t love Snow. I’m not sure if she even cares about him at all. 

Sure, her parents probably couldn’t be happier with their little princess marring _The Chosen One_. If anything, they see Snow as a status symbol.

Simon Snow is the most powerful magician alive. That is probably Doctor Wellbelove’s primary reasoning. I don’t think he is a bad man. He strikes me as a bit of a naive and idealistic idiot. (Like Snow.) 

Mrs Wellbelove no doubt sees her future son-in-law as insurance, for when the time comes and the Mage starts turning on his allies. She is a real shrew that one, just like her daughter. (Daphne drinks tea with Mrs Wellbelove at the club.)

The woman feels nothing except disdain for the Mage but still sings him praises on every occasion. And they call Pitches untrustworthy. (We are.) (Pitches put family first, above everything and everyone.)

Snow is being used by more people than just the Mage. He doesn’t get it. Snow will never get it. He is too kind and innocent for that.

People behind this War will use you and spit you out when they’re done with you. I should know. I’m one of the pawns for the Families.

The difference is that I know that, while Snow is blissfully unaware of what the Mage and the Wellbeloves need him for. (There won’t be much bliss after the wedding.) (Snow isn’t going to magickally turn into whoever it is Wellbelove wants to spend her life with.) 

I wish I wanted to see Snow suffer. I don’t. Every time I see him wearing Wellbelove’s lacrosse sweatshirt, something inside me breaks. My undead heart aches for Simon. I try not to look or to notice. I try not to think. 

I don’t engage Snow. It doesn’t do me any good. Nothing good could ever come out of it.

But Snow isn’t making it easy for me. He succeeded in trapping me behind the Mummer’s House one day and demanded that I leave his precious girlfriend alone.

I hardly got any sleep for two weeks. It wasn’t a good time. I was exhausted. (He wouldn’t have caught me if I wasn’t.) 

“I was never interested in Wellbelove,” I said and hoped he would leave it at that. He didn’t.

“I don’t believe you,“ Snow practically spat at me.

I tried to keep my eyes off him. I didn’t need to keep punishing myself by looking at his tawny skin and his moles and freckles. I would never get to kiss him or his moles. I would never get to be close to him.

Snow asking for a fight was the best I could get. But I couldn’t do even that anymore.

“You are exceedingly thick,” I said because I was too tired to think of a better response and left him there not sparing a glans to Wellbelove’s sweatshirt.

She is all wrong for him. Even a vile dark creature as I am would have been a better choice. I would have made it my life’s mission to make Simon happy. I would have done _anything_ for him. 

Wellbelove has been staring at me alongside Snow. I don’t engage her either. I only ever tried to come between them in order to get Simon to pay me any attention. 

I have nothing decent to say to her. What I do want is to scream at her from the top of my lungs.

“You got the sun, you evil witch! _He chose you!_ ”

“ _He loves you!_ And you don’t even appreciate it!”

I’m not going to. (Scream at her that is.)

Nothing I can do to change what is happening between Snow and Wellbelove. It’s too late for that.

I would have made him happy. I would have hung the Moon for him. 

_You won, Wellbelove! Now leave me the fuck alone to my own misery!_

One night I dreamt Snow incinerated Wellbelove during his magickal proposal. Another that his magic made her pretty little head explode.

Best night sleep I got in ages.

But no amount of good dreams could ever cure my broken heart.

I’m trying to enjoy the solitude instead. I just need some fucking peace and quiet to get my feelings in check.

After classes, I study in our room. During dinner time I hunt in the Wavering Wood. I’m done hiding in the Catacombs, feasting on rats.

I can’t stand it there. I’m suffocating more and more every turn I take. (I’m suffocating a lot lately.) I only come down once a week to visit my Mother and spell her flowers fresh.

I spend most of my magic on hunting spells. There are more than enough birds, rabbits and rodents to keep me well fed.

The only reason I can even do this is the fact that Snow, eats so much nowadays, he needs the full two hours for meals. Snow won’t look for me when he is busy with dinner. 

I’ve been losing my appetite. I only show up for breakfast and afternoon tea and don’t bother making a plate. I can’t eat when Snow is looking at me. 

I have a key to the kitchen. I eat my meals there when I manage to force myself to eat at all. Usually, I try to get something down before breakfast and in the evening. Cook Pritchard have been leaving sandwiches for me in the fridge. (She’s a distant cousin.)

At times I even manage to share a package of salt and vinegar crisps with Niall. (Dev doesn’t like them.)

If the lack of appetite wasn’t enough thinking about food makes me think about Snow. And I am currently fighting to stop thinking about him. It’s a never-ending cycle of anxiety.

So I don’t eat much but at least I feed a lot. (I still need food.) (But my eating issues can’t be helped at the moment.) Spending so much time around Dev and Niall with no crosses insights and no Roommate’s Anathema that includes me has been troublesome. I don’t want them the way I want Snow. I don’t want anyone the way I want _Snow_.

But I don’t want to take any unnecessary chances. When done in the Wavering Wood, I go to the pitch and practice by myself until my body can’t take it anymore. Even with my vampire strengths I still get tired fast.

I’m not sure if it’s the lack of food or just my mental exhaustion kicking in. I did notice that pushing myself to the limit, helps me sleep a bit better. After taking a quick shower, I try to shove a sandwich down my throat and go to sleep. 

The next morning is a repeat of the previous day. (With the exception for days I have football practice.)

The constant routine has been having a somewhat calming effect on me. It helps me focus, helps to keep myself composed. I’m not about to walk around school looking as distraught as I feel.

It’s bad enough I look tired and borderline ghostly.

* * *

Have I managed not to think about Snow this year? Not quite. It’s not that simple. However, I’m what you could call _surviving_ so I believe some progress was made.

Snow keeps trying to “catch me plotting”. _Good luck with that, Snow._

The lads and I aren’t plotting any curses against him. We don’t acknowledge him even to each other. (Unless there’s a reason to.) It became an unspoken rule. 

It seems as the more I try to get rid of him the less he is willing to leave me alone.

Snow’s getting in my face every time he sees me in his room. (In my mind it’s _his_ now.)

I want to get in _his_ face and spit out “I’m not plotting your downfall, _you numpty_. I’m trying very hard to get over you. So run along to your bride-to-be and leave me the fuck alone.” 

I don’t say any of that. Instead, I politely ask for permission to pass, while slowly dying inside. (I’m only half-dead, there is still some way to go.)

Snow keeps showing up for my football games and practice. It takes everything in me not to look at him. I won’t give Snow the satisfaction of knowing that he is getting to me.

For a while, I was worried he would barge in on me in the shower. A fifth-year me would have had a very detailed and beautiful fantasy about that possibility.

 _I know better now._

Therefore I shower as quickly as I can and get to my room to do homework before it’s dinner time for Snow and feeding for me.

* * *

Niall, Dev and I are planning a trip over the summer together, just the three of us. Initially, it was Niall’s suggestion. I told him I was fine and had no need for travelling anywhere. (Nowhere was far enough from Snow.) (Not as long as he kept a permanent residence in my heart.)

“ _For Crowley’s sake_ , Baz, you aren’t fine,” Niall pressed and went on a lengthy explanation why a trip was in order. And it’s not like Niall to press. Eventually, I agreed to go on holiday with them.

Father was against at first, but even he had noticed that I’ve been looking worse for wear lately. Or as Father put it “under the weather.”

“A little sun will do you good, Basilton.”

I’m a vampire. Sun will do me absolutely no good. Neither the literal sun nor my own personal sun. (The one that isn’t mine and could _never_ be mine.) (The one that keeps burning me more ferociously than the literal sun could ever do.)

Father probably thought the pressure of the War was getting to me. Not really. I don’t even think about the War. All I could think about was Snow proposing to Wellbelove.

Snow turns eighteen at the end of June.

That’s when it happens I gather. I doubt he’ll want to wait much further. After growing up an orphan Snow must be desperate for a family. And he isn’t the one for patience, self-restraint or overthinking. (Or thinking in general unless it’s about me plotting.)

_I could have been your family, Simon._

Then, of course, I was never good enough for him. But neither is Wellbelove. She isn’t _better_ than me. Her _fangs_ aren’t visible but they’re still there. She’ll tear him apart without a second thought. 

They aren’t even married yet and she walks around complaining about everything Snow related. Rumour has it, his current weight is an issue for the Spring Ball. (Yes I listen to rumours now.) (I’m disgusting.) 

Snow gained much more weight this year than he usually does. Simon is always beautiful, in any size. One has to be blind not to see that.

The only difference now is that there’s more to love. _And more to kiss_ , my treacherous brain supplies. I try desperately not to think about that.

I try not to think about Snow at all. Thinking about Snow is a fool's errand. And I am said fool.

Snow doesn’t realize who Wellbelove truly is.

He is probably jumping up and down as an overactive dog, waiting for the moment she will finally be his. He’ll do his best to rub it in my face when we are back at school for our final year.

I wish I didn’t have to come back. (I do have to come back.) My mother wouldn’t have approved of me skipping my last year, even if it’s optional.

I’m planning on being out of the country when Snow’s and Wellbelove’s big day occurs. And I will not be checking the records to see if Snow actually managed to stop time or if he settled for a symbolic spell that any half-arse mage with at least a drop of magic could accomplish as a magickal proposal. 

Somehow I doubt Snow will make time stop. And if he does, and his magic overdoes it as it tends to, that might mean imminent doom for all of us. I can’t believe Bunce is letting him go through with it. She should know better.

Maybe she is just spearing Snow’s feelings for now and is planning on convincing him to go with the symbolic spell when the time comes. That is far more plausible than Bunce letting him cast the spell.

I’d rather see Snow marrying Bunce. She loves him _nearly_ as much as I do. (Nobody loves Simon _as much_ as I do.)

Bunce always takes care of Snow and puts herself in danger for him. She is worthy of him.

I know they are only friends. But it would have been alright if it was Bunce that Simon chose over me. Bunce is better than me. (Most people are better than me.) (Wellbelove is _not_ included in that list.)

I would still have been in agony but I would have been happy for him. I would have known that Simon was loved every day, even if it wasn’t by me. (Simon will _always_ be loved by me, just from afar.)

I want him to be happy.

That’s all I want.

Even though I wish he was happy with me. Even though a part of me pathetically believes that I would have been a better choice for him out of everyone else. Then I remember what I truly am… (Nevermind then.)

* * *

I wasn’t planning on attending Spring Ball. The last thing I needed was to watch Snow tumble around Wellbelove. Needless to say, Niall convinced me to come. He’s good at getting through to me.

“Basil, my dear lad. We have an image to maintain.” Niall is much funnier than people give him credit.

“And what image might that be?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“The image of _not giving a fuck_ of course,” he smirked at me, the arse.

“What makes you think I care about that?” I pressed because I’m difficult.

“Because the golden boy thinks he is getting to you by parading his blonde bimbo around. And you _want_ him to know that you are not affected by that.”

Niall was right of course. It’s one thing for _me_ to know that Snow broke my heart. It’s another entirely for him to know that.

Snow will _never_ find out. (That is the only piece of dignity I have left.)

“Alright then. Gentlemen, I believe I need a new suit.” If I was going to attend the Spring Ball I would look my best.

“That’s the spirit mate,” Niall beamed at me. “We’ll get sozzled before the Ball and nobody will be the wiser.”

Niall always knows what to say to cheer me up.

* * *

I should have known better. I shouldn’t have indulged myself. The Spring Ball was an utter catastrophe.

Whisky on an empty stomach might not have been the brightest idea. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

We got sozzled before the Ball and brought a flask with us. I was emptying it at a rapid speed. (Watching Snow and Wellbelove was too painful.) (I shouldn’t have come.)

As per usual Wellbelove got tired of Snow stepping on her feet. Niall kept asking her to dance. (He was doing that for me. Niall doesn’t like Wellbelove.) (Dev does, even though she is only a pretty face, _nothing more_.)

I couldn’t get myself to enjoy that particular spectacle. Snow cornered me by the punch bowl. (We did not spike it.)

“You are not asking Agatha to dance.”

I didn’t respond.

But Snow never backs down, does he?

“Why not?” I wasn’t going to engage him so I stayed silent.

 **_“Answer me!”_ **It wasn’t a spell but he made the words magickal. I felt compulsion running through me.

“Because there's no point to that anymore,” I answered even though I didn’t want to.

While Snow was recovering from the shock of it all (I don’t think he knew he was capable of compulsion.) I took that as an opportunity to leave as quickly as I could. (I did _not_ run.) (Snow didn’t need to know that he scared me.)

But as soon as I was safely outside I started to run. I run as fast as I could to our room in case Snow decided to continue with his interrogation.

I could have ended up telling him everything. (That’s I’m a vampire, or even _worse_ , that I’m in love with him.)

I called Fiona and left with her that same night.

The Spring Ball always falls on the first weekend after the last exam. There was nothing left for me. Fiona excused me from the remaining two weeks of the term on pretences of there being a family emergency. 

* * *

The lads and I are going to Egypt. I wish I could have made this trip with Fiona, but I didn’t dare to bring it up with her.

My mother and my aunt spent two weeks every summer in Egypt with their grandparents. It would have been too painful for her to go back.

That is why, at first, I didn’t mention the destination for our journey.

“Was planning on giving it to you on your birthday, boyo,” Fiona said and handed me a debit card as lieu of a reaction. “It’s in your name, Basil. I know Malcolm is too cheap to let you have any real money.”

I didn’t know what to say. This was more freedom than I ever had experienced. I don’t believe Father is cheap. He just wants me under his immediate control. Perhaps he worries I run away with a Normal. 

“Thank you,” I said and did my best not to look too affected by this. I have been showing far more emotions than I should.

“And if you end up having too much fun, Baz,” Fiona said and winked at me. “Just spell them innocent. Your Father will never know.” I’m not planning to spend my holiday seducing Normals. I didn’t bother telling my aunt that. She means well.

When I finally told Fiona where exactly we were heading, she was more than happy. I saw tears in her eyes. (Fiona pretended that didn’t happen.) 

I don’t remember Mother as much as I would have liked. I need to feel closer to her. I need to feel something that is good. (I’ve had enough pain for a lifetime.) The plan is to emerge in our history and get in touch with my roots.

There isn’t any family left in Egypt. (Fiona and I are the last two remaining Pitches.) But all the places are there and belong to us still. People remember our family with respect. Our reputation means something over there. (The Mage doesn’t have any pull in Egypt. _Not yet_ at least.)

During this year I have been learning Arabic and Hebrew in my spare time.

Bible spells are both very powerful and useful. (Yes. I’m well aware that I’m a vampire.) Since I wasn’t spending my days all wrapped up in Snow (or as close to that as I got), I did have more hours to do with as I pleased.

Who knew that fighting with Snow by day and watching him sleep at night required that much time? I was both succeeding in my classes and making a lot of progress with two extra languages.

Bunce had been off her game this term due to Snow’s nonstop torments about uncovering my “evil plot”. I ended up so far ahead of her I almost felt sorry for the girl. (I even went through most of the eighth year syllabus as well as gotten top marks in all of my classes for this year.)

Life isn’t fair. ( _Sorry, Bunce!_ ) I was making my Mother proud and keeping my mind occupied from obsessing about Snow at the same time. It was a win-win. 

* * *

We are leaving for Egypt today. Fiona drove us to the airport. She was teary-eyed. ( _Again._ )

“Make sure to have fun, Basil,” she says for the third time since this morning.

“I will,” I’m trying hard not to cry myself. This is the first time I travel anywhere without my family. And this particular trip means so much to both Fiona and me. 

I’m hoping this journey will help me feel closer to my Mother. I’m also hoping to at least attempt to get over Snow. Fiona knows that.

“Talk to people, listen to their stories. Pitches are still remembered with warmth there. You have a lot to be proud of, Basil. You are a Pitch. We can survive _anything_. Never forget that.”

Before I leave, Fiona gives me a tight hug and smears red lipstick all over my cheek.

This time I do get tears in my eyes. It’s getting hard to conceal my feelings around her. Pitches have emotions too. Even if we hide them better than most.

Dev, Niall and I settle on the plane and I try very hard to let go of my love for Simon.

Go ahead, Snow. Propose to your perfect girlfriend. Start your happily ever after without me.

I’m done being a nuisance. _I’m done._


	3. Chapter 3

## End of the Seventh year - Beginning of the Eight year

# SIMON

I was standing there frozen in place. Baz was afraid of me. I could see it on his face and in his eyes even though everything was contorted with compulsion.

Did I mean to do that? What I just did shouldn’t even be possible.

I used compulsion on Baz without any spell just with my voice. That’s unheard of. That’s not _normal_. I’m not normal.

And then Baz was gone and I had to go after him. I wasn’t really sure why I run after Baz. I didn’t even know what I was going to do when I found him. I just knew that I had to find him. I spent the night searching for him in the Catacombs. I was exhausted but I couldn’t give up.

Later I realized that not even once did I think about making him tell me if he was a vampire or what he was plotting against me. I just wanted to find Baz, to make sure he was alright. I just wanted Baz.

He didn’t show up for breakfast the next day. Baz _always_ showed up for breakfast. (It’s lunch and dinner that he kept missing.) Since I couldn’t find him I went looking for Dev and Niall. Maybe they knew where he was.

I followed them to the Mummer’s House and caught up with them just as they were entering their room. I pushed myself through the door to see if Baz was there. 

He wasn’t but I felt a faint scent of cedar and bergamot.

_Baz has been here._

That’s when I noticed a mattress by the wall. All this time Baz lived in their room and slept _on their floor_. Baz is too beautiful to sleep on the floor. It made no sense. 

“Where is he?” I screamed. I was so angry. But I wasn’t sure with whom exactly.

“What did you say to him yesterday, you wanker?” Dev demanded.

They thought I threatened Baz. They have no idea what I really did. Baz hasn’t told them. Why hasn’t he told them? Why hasn’t he told anyone? 

“I need to know where he is. I need to talk to him.” There weren’t telling me anything.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted to fight them but they haven’t done anything wrong.

I was the one that did something _wrong_. _Me_. Baz was supposed to be the monster.

How did this happen? He can’t be afraid of me. How was he afraid of me? Nothing was making any sense.

“No- I - I didn’t mean to - I -” _Merlin_ , I had no idea what I wanted.

To explain, to apologize? This wasn’t how the year was supposed to end. Not with Baz missing because of me. 

“You are worried that Baz wants to kill you. You should be more worried that I want to kill you. _I will kill you with my bare hands if you ever come near him again._ I don’t fucking care that you’re _The Chosen One._ Do you understand me?” Niall was yelling.

I couldn’t care less about him threatening me. I had to find Baz.

They weren’t going to tell me anything, that much was clear. I went back to the Catacombs. I didn’t think I would find him there. But I didn’t know what else there was to do. 

The following Monday I found out that Baz was gone. Even though we still had two weeks left of the term.

Even though Baz never missed a single day of school because school is the most important thing to him in the world. I chased him away.

It should have made me happy but it hasn’t. Instead, I felt _so angry_.

I asked Miss Possibelf and she told me that Baz’s aunt Fiona picked him up on Saturday evening (the night of the Spring Ball), due to a family emergency.

Which means that Baz hasn’t told anyone what I did. He could have gotten me expelled. Using compulsion on someone is illegal, not like this and not for a student.

That is something only the Coven is allowed to do (not exactly _that_. No one can make a question into compulsion with just their voice as I did.)

There is a spell **The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth**. But the Coven has to have a legal reason for casting that spell on anyone. 

Baz could have gotten rid of me once and for all but he didn’t and he asked his aunt to lie to get out from Watford because he was afraid of me.

Yet he hasn’t told anyone about me. I wanted to believe that he was somewhere out there plotting against me and that was why I felt so uneasy. But Baz finally had a way to get me expelled.

And not only did he not do it, but he also lied in order to escape me instead of telling what I did. Even the Mage himself wouldn’t have been able to save me from expulsion after that. 

* * *

I spent two remaining weeks of the term on edge. Nothing felt right anymore. I had troubles sleeping. (More than usual.)

I kept looking for Baz even though I knew he wasn’t here. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Watford without Baz felt all wrong. I couldn’t even enjoy my remaining two weeks before the summer break. 

I kept going back to the Catacombs. It hasn’t helped.

I was rethinking this whole year.

There was something I was missing. I just couldn’t see what it was.

I wasn’t sure anymore if the locket I found belonged to Baz or not but it reminded me of him. So I was carrying it with me everywhere I went. Just to have a piece of him with me.

I could swear the locket was giving me physical comfort. (Probably just wishful thinking.) I couldn’t care about anything anymore. Because Baz wasn’t here. Because he left me all alone _. I made him leave._ I scared him.

What does it say about me if I scared a monster? Was Baz a monster? Or was it me?

The vision of Baz sleeping on the floor couldn’t leave my mind. I kept thinking about what happened at the Spring Ball. Remembering it made my stomach turn.

I hurt Baz. I mean I hurt him a lot before. We hurt each other. The number of punches I have thrown at Baz is too many to count.

But this was different. He couldn’t protect himself from me this time. It wasn’t a fair fight. I kept worrying about Baz doing something terrible to me, but I did _this_ to him. 

Why do I care about his feelings?

* * *

Even after I left for the summer, I still could not get Watford and Baz out of my mind. I could always do that before. I had a list of things I wasn’t allowed to think about during the summer break.

But this time it didn’t work. I kept thinking about Watford. I kept thinking about how the last two weeks there didn’t feel like home. Nothing felt normal without Baz.

Watford didn’t feel like home without Baz. I needed him. I wanted Baz.

Every night I spent, lying in my bed, thinking about him. I have been doing that for years. Lying in bed thinking about Baz plotting against me. But this time it was different.

He wasn’t plotting anything and for some reason, my thoughts were filled with his perfect black hair and his grey eyes, deep as the ocean with too many emotions behind them that I could never understand.

Baz looking gorgeous in his uniform even though our uniform looks the same.

Baz who is so beautiful it hurts. My breathing was catching. It always did when I thought about him.

I just want Baz here with me. 

I need to hold him to make sure he’s real.

I need to hold him because I want to.

_I want Baz._

I’ve _always_ wanted Baz.

_Jesus Christ._

How have I not noticed it before? Merlin, _I am exceedingly thick_ just like Baz said I was.

This realization should have surprised me. It should have come as a shock.

But then why was there a list in my head of all the things I wanted to do to Baz? And none of them included punching him. And far too many included kissing him.

Now that I know this I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about Baz. I never felt like that about Agatha.

I never spent all my time thinking about her, I never spent my time fantasising about all the things I wanted to do to her. Thinking about Agatha never made my heart ache this way or skip a beat.

I’m in love with Baz.

Baz who hates me. But if he did hate me then why didn’t he tell anyone about what I did? 

Baz who I kept threatening to stay away from my girlfriend.

Baz who told me he didn’t want Agatha. 

Baz who spent all year avoiding me.

Could he feel the same? Is he even gay?

How can I know if Baz is gay if I didn’t even know that I was gay?

The only thing I’m sure of right now is that the night of Spring Ball Baz was terrified of me. I don’t want him to be afraid of me ever again.

I need to tell him how I feel. But I have to make sure he understands what I mean. I can’t stammer through this because I don’t know what to say.

I have to know exactly what to say to Baz. I need to do this properly.

That’s what Baz deserves. I need to write a speech.

That is the only way I will not fuck it up. I need to tell Baz how I feel and hope that he feels the same. And even if he doesn’t at least he won’t be afraid of me anymore, not if he knows that I love him. I would never hurt him. 

I love Baz. This feels like the most natural emotion in the world, this makes the most sense. Nothing ever did make so much sense in my entire life.

For once in my life, I felt oddly hopeful about my future.

* * *

How much everything could change in a span of a few months… The irony doesn’t escape even me. By the time I came back to Watford for our final year, I was sure that not only did I love Baz, but I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. 

I’m in the hidden chamber now, with only a torch for light. (A Normal torch I had from the care home.)

I keep going over our conversation from earlier today, tormenting myself. Why am I doing this to myself?

To say that it didn’t go well would be an understatement. The delivery (if you will), went through without a hitch.

I spent the greater part of the summer terrified that I will end up fumbling over my words.

So I wrote a speech and re-wrote it a few dozen times over the course of six weeks. In the end, I knew every word I was going to say.

I was nervous but I managed to pull myself together and do it properly. Because that is what Baz deserved. He deserved a proper declaration of love.

As it happened, a good or a bad speech made no difference in the end. At least I didn’t try to kiss him. I say a silent thanks for that. It would have made Baz so much more uncomfortable. And I’ve made him very uncomfortable as it is. 

And apparently, after a year of ignoring the mere existence of me, Baz sure had a lot to say. Some things hurt more than others.

“You are just a Normal with magic, a fluke of the universe.”

Admitting to myself that I’m shite with words and magic never been a problem for me. I worried quite often that I didn’t deserve being at Watford, that I didn’t belong here.

I hear his voice in my head loud and clear “No sane person would ever love you, Snow.”

It was painful to hear but it still didn’t break me. Deep down I always knew that was true.

“The only way I would ever choose you would be if you compelled me to. And now I have to worry about you doing that. The thought of spending a whole year with you makes me sick to my stomach.”

Does Baz think I would do that to him? That I would ever use compulsion on him? But again this isn’t as unrealistic as you might think.

I did use compulsion on him once. Who’s to say I wouldn’t do it again. (I wouldn’t, especially not _like that_.) 

_I would never_.

But Baz doesn’t know that. How can he? All I ever did to Baz was fight him. I broke his nose once. He only ever used his words against me, I used my fists. Is it that farfetched for Baz to assume I could do _this_ too? I haven’t done anything to prove him otherwise. I can see myself through his eyes. 

A killer, a monster, a weapon. That’s all I had to offer. Someone who shouldn’t be around people. I need to do the only thing I am good at — kill. I need to fight the Humdrum and hope I can defeat it. There is nothing more for me. 

Baz couldn’t stand the sight of me and was afraid of me in the worst possible way.

 _That_ right there, that’s what finally broke me, what brought my utter annihilation. I felt hollow, like a fucking zombie.

Funny how I spent the fifth year worrying that Baz would turn me into one because he was a vampire. Turns out he turned me into a zombie with just a few carefully chosen words.

I couldn’t let Baz drop out of Watford because he didn’t feel safe here. Baz loves school. 

The walls are shrinking on me and I feel suffocated. Not literally. I might be having a panic attack. I turn the torch off and let the darkness calm me down. 

You’d think I should know better then keep obsessing over this. But obsessing over Baz is all I’ve ever known. (Penny might ‘ve been wrong for once. It isn’t magic that is in my DNA, it’s this — obsessing about Baz.) 

So here I am, digging my grave a little deeper. There won’t be anyone to notice the difference except for me. (I’m not going to complain.)

Because I’m tired of pretending that there will be a happy ending for me at the end of this road. My endgame is dying while trying to defeat the Humdrum.

If I’m lucky enough, I’ll get to take the Humdrum down to Hell with me. I’ve killed enough to know that even without this last step I’m about to take, the only place I’m headed to is Hell. They don’t let killers into Heaven.

Funny how I kept thinking Baz was a monster when I’m the only one between the two of us that have killed. More than once or twice.

In the space of seven years, I have killed more magickal creatures than I can count. I’ve lost count. I have been the true monster this whole time...

The good thing with hitting rock bottom is that you have absolutely nothing else to lose. I know that I still have Penny to lose.

But she’ll be better off without me. And this is my chance to make things right. To repay the World of Mages for seven years of joy and magic.

Falling was scary and awful. Hitting rock bottom feels more _peaceful_. There isn’t anywhere else to go. 

I really don’t know what will become of me once I lose my soul. Nothing good is a safe bet. I don’t want to become an actual monster. But maybe that is what one needs to be in order to defeat the greatest threat?

Somehow I’m don’t feel afraid. This is what was supposed to happen. I was prophesized which means my only purpose is to take on the Humdrum, nothing else.

A Prophesy doesn’t get to have a life or a free will. How could I ever think that I had any control over anything in my life?

If these are my last moments with humanity I might as well enjoy them. 

I let my heart be filled with pain and think of everything good.

Penny... My best friend and dread companion. The person who loves me the most. Well… no, that’s not right... the only person that loves me. It means the world to me.

I’m sorry I can’t take you with me on this adventure, Pen. There’s no coming back from this. You deserve a happy life. You deserve better than me. 

Baz… The person that hates me the most, my roommate, my home, the love of my life… 

“tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” I say without magic. It supposed to heal a broken heart. It’s a temporary remedy. Wears off too quickly to make any difference in the long run.

Besides I wouldn’t want anything to interfere right now. This is merely a reminder. I have no regrets. This is the most real thing to ever happen to me. I never felt so _real_. The pain doesn’t take it away. 

This is the last time I will feel any of this. That makes it almost tolerable and so much more important. It makes Baz more important. (Didn’t think that was even possible… I’m used to being wrong.)

I lie on the dusty floor surrounded by cobwebs and dead spiders. I think the magic burning inside of me killed them.

Because I kill everything I come in contact with. (Because I’m a monster.) I let myself remember every fight, insult, sneer and smirk. I let myself remember every interaction Baz and I ever had. I’m trying to savour every single one. I won’t ever get another chance like this. 

There is a lot to remember. My whole world, here at Watford, has been Baz since day one. I didn’t understand it nor knew what it meant at the time. I do now. 

I don’t regret falling in love with Baz.

Agatha and I dated for three years and not even once have the thought of her turned my world upside down. I have seen how people in love acted.

There were no similarities. And every time Agatha would break up with me I would be mad picturing her with Baz, but never cared beyond that.

Sometimes I would worry that there was something wrong with me, that I couldn’t feel the right emotion. I tried not to think about it.

Penny would bring Agatha up a lot in the beginning.

“Do you actually love Agatha, Simon?”

“Of course I do. She’s my destiny.” That was my go-to answer.

“You don’t have to be with Agatha just because you think she is your destiny. You hardly spend any time with her, Simon. And I don’t think your magic is compatible.”

But I couldn’t think like that. Agatha was my endgame. I didn’t have to spend my time with her _now_. I was supposed to do that later if I survived the Humdrum and the War.

So I fought Penny on the subject. But the doubt kept creeping in my mind, tormenting me. Why wasn’t I feeling the all-consuming overpowering love to my own girlfriend? What was wrong with me?

The everlasting doubt that something was so terribly wrong with me, that I couldn’t even fall in love, was a constant fear. That I was so broken I couldn’t _feel_ love.

No wonder my parents didn’t want me. Did they know that about me? Is that why they gave me away?

Love is the most basic human emotions. I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel it. I cared for Penny of course. But it’s not the same or at least at that moment I didn’t think about it — that what I feel for Penny _was_ enough, that not everyone needs to fall in love in order to _feel_ love.

But all I could think back then was that love is supposed to be build-in in our DNA. That’s what keeps human species from extinction. And I didn’t have it.

So not only was magic not in DNA, neither was love. A mage usually falls in love for life.

A mage is different from a Normal. It’s our magic that blends with love and settles within. Nothing can affect it. And I wasn’t normal. All I ever wanted was to be loved. But how could I ever be loved if I wasn’t capable of love myself?

As it turns out you can’t be in love with your girlfriend when you’re already head over heels in love with your roommate slash nemesis. I’m choosing to see the good in this.

There was apparently nothing wrong with me. At least not when it comes to being capable of actual love. And that’s when I also realized that I do feel love to Penny too. It’s just different kind.

And love _is_ love, no matter what kind...

It makes me feel better. Because there is so much that is, in fact, wrong with me, it’s nice to find something that is _right_. But that, of course is neither here nor there at the moment.

So, yeah, finally figuring out my feelings to Baz is a relief, believe it or not. A broken heart means that there was a heart to break, to begin with.

There is a list in my head of all the things I never knew I needed. (Wouldn’t let myself think about is the proper term.) I’m never going to get to experience any them.

I know that. But I’m still going to go through every single one in my head. Imagining what it would have been like, what it would have felt like. 

This might sound pathetic and it is. But these are literally my last moments of humanity. This is my dying wish if you will. So I’ll be damned if I don’t let myself relish in this illusion.

I imagine my fingers tracing the perfect alabaster skin of Baz’s face.

I imagine moving his hair off his forehead and cupping his face. I imagined kissing Baz’s perfect lips. Everything about Baz is perfect.

He is all I ever wanted. (Even if it took me seven years to realize that.)

I imagine moving my hand behind Baz’s neck and gliding my hand through his beautiful black hair. His hands around my waist, pulling me closer. 

My lips against his lips. Our bodies pressed together and no distance between us. I imagine being a part of Baz.

He is already a part of me. Without Baz, I feel incomplete, half alive. I might as well lose that last part…Being half seems like a worse alternative than not existing at all.

I hold the locket tight in my hand and say **_“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain”_** and **_‘Love is begun by time, And time qualifies the spark and fire of it’_** with magic. I notice that it’s much easier for me to cast spells with the locket in my hand. Almost as if I’m getting invisible help somehow. (Is it how wishful thinking works?)

When I’m done, I hang the locket back around my neck. Those spells are very powerful if someone is in love.

I’m trying to draw strength from my love to Baz. I have no idea what will happen when I’m done tonight. I’ll take all the help I can get. I just hope the room won’t catch on _actual_ fire.

Me burning alive down here would defeat the purpose of it all.

Thank magic it was easy to locate that book I found last spring on blood oaths and rituals.

I read the whole description of blood ritual for concealment I showed Penny that day and everything that comes with it. I need to make sure I’m doing every step right.

The ritual itself is fairly straightforward. It’s blood magic combined with runes.

All I need is so write Fire, Birth, Water, Earth, Death and Air in a circle on my chest with my blood. (My heart needs to be somewhere within the runes.)

The last step is to draw blood from the top of my heart and use it to draw a circle around the symbols. Doesn’t take a genius to do this. The result will be a person somewhere in between, neither dead nor alive, — someone without a soul.

And no one will ever be able to find me using magic.

__

“I love you, Baz,” I whisper to the empty room, take a deep breath, slash across my chest with the Sword of Mages and complete the circle.

An instant calm sweeps over me. It’s hard to explain. Almost as if someone gave me a very strong sedative but kept my brain alert, extremely alert.

I don’t think I ever felt so focused in my life. I can’t stop thinking. 

There's a plan starting to form in my mind without me even actively deciding to do so.

I need to know where I came from.

Mages don’t give their children up. Everybody knows that. And Normals have no magic. They can’t have magical children. But the world is filled with all kind of creatures.

My mission is clear. Do whatever it takes to defeat the Humdrum. I can’t cast spells, not properly or consistently. I need a different advantage.

I need to find out where I came from and what to do with my power.

I remember Penny saying “Knowledge is power.” She is always quoting someone.

I didn’t understand it then. I wish I could tell her how right she was with so many things. But I can’t risk involving her in this. I don’t want her to get hurt.

My plan of action needs to be written down. There is no need to hurry. Thanks to this blood ritual no one will be able to track me. There’s time to do this the right way. 

This is going to be a long night.

Eventually, I return to our room. Baz hasn’t come back. (I wasn’t expecting him to either.) Baz is probably at Dev and Niall’s room. He shouldn’t have the need to sleep on the floor ever again.

When I leave he’ll get his room and en suit back without me here.

Baz can finally be happy. _I need him to be happy._

I start by taking a shower and washing off all the blood and dirt. The face looking back at me in the mirror is mine. I look the same and yet different.

Something is missing. I can’t quite put it to words. Passive perhaps.

There are no emotions on my face. I look like Baz does sometimes. But still not exactly like him. My eyes look too still. Baz’s never did. I feel something leaving me with every breath I take. A few memories are becoming a bit too wage. I can’t lose Baz.

Doubt is creeping into my mind. I’ve cast two love spells back at the hidden chamber to give me strengths. What if that wasn’t enough? What if I will lose Baz? I need to cast another spell.

I’m not sure what magickal capacity I have left, so I cut my palm just to make the spell stronger, smear the blood on the locket and cast **_‘Doubt that the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move his aides, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love’_ **. I desperately hope that I get to keep Baz with me through it all.

There is a duffel with leprechaun’s gold in my wardrobe I need to bring with me and I also pack my rucksack with a few pieces of clothing, a pen and a notebook. I take Baz’s cushion too. (It still smells like him, like home. He must have rested on it after he arrived at Watford.)

It will help me sleep tonight. I need a good night rest. Now that my pain is contained everything is much easier and clearer. I need this. I need him with me because I don’t want to do this alone. 

I leave my cushion on his bed. Baz will probably notice the switch once he’s back. (He will feel safe to come back as soon as he finds out I’m not here anymore.) It’s well creepy to steal his cushion.

But I’ve been acting creepy almost since we met, even more since the fifth year. Besides, Baz isn’t here to judge me and I am giving myself a break.

As luck has it I have a water bottle and a few mint Aeros. I stuff them in my rucksack for later. I’m not really hungry. That’s definitely a new development.

For the rest, I feel the same, except for the undeniable self-control. I never had that. I’m not anxious in the same way I usually get. 

I’m making lists of everything I know which isn’t much.

Everything I don’t know which is a lot. And what I need in order to succeed with my endeavour. I need to blend in amongst the Normals. That shouldn't be hard, I lived amongst them for so long. 

What I need is to stay somewhere uncharacteristic where no one I know would stumble upon me by accident.

The Mage and his men travel a lot. I need to make sure they can’t find me. Somewhere Normal and upscale. They won’t look in _those_ places for me.

A little obedient orphan who stayed at the care homes just because the Mage told him too.

Why did he tell me to stay at those terrible places when I could have gotten myself a place to live since I was sixteen? I had the means for it. Why did I spend all my time listening to other people and never thinking for myself?

Later I break into Miss Possibelf’s office. (The door to her office doesn't have any wards like the ones the Mage has on his door, so anybody can get in.)

Miss Possibelf has some stationery on her desk. I write my resignation from Watford and a note for Penny and one for Ebb.

I put Penny’s and Ebb’s notes in two separate envelopes and seal each one. I put both the resignation and sealed notes in a bigger envelope and seal that one as well.

Ebb will understand me for wanting to leave. I wrote that it was because of the War. (It’s partially true, — after all I can’t fight Baz.)

Ebb didn’t want to take part in the War herself. She won’t hold it against me.

As for Penny. I wrote the real truth to her, about me going after the Humdrum. She won’t understand. (Penny always puts herself in danger for me.) I can’t let her do it this time. And thanks to the concealment spell, Penny won’t be able to track me. She will also know that it’s fruitless to go looking for me. (I wrote what I did in the note to her.) That will keep her safe.

I knock on Miss Possibelf’s door. It isn’t late but she opens the door in her sleeping gown.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, Miss Possibelf,” I remember to be polite.

She looks surprised to see me.

“That’s quite alright, Simon. I was awake.”

I hand her the envelope. 

“Please, promise to wait until tomorrow to open it?” I ask.

There is no doubt in my mind that I don’t look my usual self at all anymore. But I also know that she'll think I’m in shock. Nothing else.

Miss Possibelf probably suspects what’s in the envelope. I see regret written all over her face. 

“Are you sure about this, Simon?”

If there is anything I ever been sure of in my life (except my feelings to Baz), it is this moment right here. I’m going to try my best to defeat the Humdrum. I’m going to protect Baz and Penny and the rest of the magickal community.

I don’t tell Miss Possibelf any of that.

Instead, I say a calm and firm “Yes, I am.”

“I see.” She stays quiet for a moment and then adds.

“Simon. Does this have anything to do with—”

I don't let her finish.

I’m not exactly sure what she was planning on saying but I think she would ask about Baz. (Afterall Miss Possibelf did know how I felt about Baz before I did.) And I am not going to look as heartbroken as I’m supposed to. 

“I’m not going to take part in the War,” I say, avoiding her eyes and hope she’ll leave it at that.

I know Miss Possibelf is against the War. She says it’s unnatural for a mage to turn against another mage in this manner. (I think she’s right. I have been realizing quite a lot in these last few hours)

Miss Possibelf looks at me with far too many emotions I would have expected from a teacher of mine and hugs me.

“I wish you the best of luck, Simon.”

After I thank her, we bade each other farewell. 

* * *

I leave Watford undetected (thank magic) and start my journey towards the train station.

Even though both the duffel of leprechaun’s gold and my rucksack are heavy, the only thing I keep feeling is the locket moving against my chest.

It’s the only reminder of Baz I have left. (Except for his cushion.) I’m worried it won’t be enough. Something keeps changing inside me.

“Please, don’t leave me, Baz,” I whisper to the empty street ahead of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In order to survive this chapter I wrote a short fluffy/porny stand alone, "Simon's Summer".😂 (The events of the two fics are not related.)


	4. Chapter 4

##  **Beginning of the Eight year**

#  **BAZ**

Our journey to Egypt was _life-altering_.

Fiona may not have been with me there physically, but she was a constant reminder during the trip.

And not only because of what was probably dozens of text messages she sent my way every single day, which she did. Fiona also made all the arrangements. 

Niall and Dev were interested until a certain degree. (I was more than grateful for that already.)

Some days when it got a bit too much of family history, they stayed by the pool or went sightseeing on their own. We’d meet up for dinner after. 

The food was exquisite.

I still had troubles eating. But while here in Egypt, surrounded by my Mother’s history, I was trying my best to get through my problems, the little I could.

This trip was supposed to be a healing process for me, both body and mind. And it was in many ways, even if it couldn’t cure me completely, it still was helping.

We travelled around the country for more sights to see, more people to meet. I was hearing things like, “Egypt lost one of it’s brightest families the day there were no more Pitches left.” That meant a lot to me, to the memory of _my Mother_.

Everybody hates us back in England, the Mage made sure of that. Why should we feel ashamed for loving magic as much as we do and value a good education? My Mother was powerful and brilliant and used it for something good.

She could have done anything she wanted. Instead, my Mother became a teacher to give back. The Mage... He gives nothing back, all he does is takes and keeps systematically dismantling my Mother’s legacy. 

Cairo was beautiful. But that wasn’t the reason for me to come all this way and splatter sunscreen all over myself every day.

I learned a lot. About our family, about magic (what they don’t teach you at Watford.) Magic has so many depts to it. You can do extraordinary things with magic. I knew that of course but it’s different to see the older approach. There was so much to learn. 

The Mage has restricted our access to knowledge to the extent of it being a child’s play.

For instance, we don’t study wards at Watford anymore and magical history doesn’t stretch as far back as it should have.

I have learned that by using Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic you can place one of the strongest wards in the world, despite it being a dead language. It’s not always about the popularity of a language, it’s also about history and bloodlines. 

The longer, stronger history the more you can draw strength from it. As long as it’s connected to your blood or place of residence it can give you powerful protection. 

The modern approach is interchangeable. Normals go from one trend to another in a span of a few months.

We can’t let our magic be dependent on a whim of the Normals. We need stability. That’s what Egyptian magicians have been concentrating on for years now.

The Mage could have gone this road as well. Why aren’t we embracing Celtic or Old Norse? That’s what most of us have in our blood back in England.

Why are we sitting around stupidly reading Normal literature that will lose all its strength a year or two from now when Normals move on to the next big thing?

Even the Families haven’t thought of that. Their goal is to strengthen Victorian spells, which is a good idea. Victorian spells have already strong magic embedded in them.

But surely if we went back to the point where history itself is strong enough to maintain magic even without support from Normals it would have been better? It would give us true independence. _That’s the kind of Magickal Reform we need!_

One of these days the Mage might outright try and kill us, without any evidence or a trial. I learned all I could in the little time I had about wards and created a fitting protective ward for Fiona. 

I don’t know why my aunt even insists on being a part of the War. My Mother is gone. Fighting the Mage will not bring her back. _Nothing_ can bring her back. We should just leave. 

Fiona and I could start a new life. We’ll fit in here better than anywhere, simply by physical appearance.

I am much paler but most people assume it’s the British part of me. (British people aren’t that pale and _grey_ , but people just don’t think too hard about.)

I constantly call Snow an idealistic idiot. But I’m no better myself. I’m staying even though I know that even if I could win, I would still let Snow kill me.

Because I could never kill him, I love him _too much_ to do that. Confessing my love to Snow as he stabs me in the heart with his sword may sound _romantic_ , but it really isn’t. I’m done being _pathetic_ and I’m done _losing to Snow_.

I don’t have a mother anymore, my Father will never accept me and will eventually turn my siblings against me. But I have _my aunt_.

I need to find a way to convince Fiona to come to Egypt. She’s too proud and too stubborn. And she wants revenge for my Mother. But _our revenge_ could be to survive and to thrive.

As soon as I am done with my final year at Watford we should leave. I will spend one last year at a place my Mother called home, a place where she died and I was forced into becoming a monster and spent my existence doomed to Hell.

I will indulge myself in watching Snow for one more year and then _I will finally be done with him_ , once and for all. It should be easier now that _Snow is taken_ , properly taken. 

* * *

I came back to London the day before school starts. That meant that there was no time for discussing the possibility of moving with Fiona.

She drove us to school from the airport. (Fiona was kind enough to pack all my things back at Hampshire and bring it with.)

Honestly, this might have been a bad idea. I’m tired after the long flight and the drive but what’s done is done. I get to Snow’s room, unpack, take a shower and rest for a few hours. (He wasn’t in. _Thank magic_.)

I am planning on moving back to this room for our last year. I think I can do it. I hope I could do it. For one last hurrah if you will, to _creepily watch him sleep_.

Snow stumbles in eventually. Let the game begin. _Give me your worst, Snow._ I will survive anything you throw at me. Call me a monster, call me whatever you want. I’m ready.

* * *

If this wasn’t Snow elaborate plot to humiliate me, he would have _kissed me_ instead of reciting a well-rehearsed script. Snow is not the one for planning, he is _impulsive_.

That is when he’s real. That’s how I knew it was all a _lie_ before he even got through half of it. I let him finish because I needed time to _plan my answer_. 

For just a moment I was _weak enough_ to believe that this could be Snow’s way to get a bit of _experimenting_ out of the way before marriage. And who is better to experiment with than his sworn enemy he is going to kill one day?

Dead men tell no tales. Not that anybody would believe me if I did tell anyone.

Would I’ve tried to stop the wedding? When the priest asks if anyone has any objections, I could see myself bursting in using **Open sesame** on the church doors. (I can’t actually enter the church, I don’t think.)

“No, Simon Snow can’t marry this woman. He snogged _me_ at the beginning of our eights year.”

_Crowley._

I would have probably done it too if I could. That’s how _pathetic_ I am, how _low_ I have sunk. (I’m a constant disappointment to myself.)

Barging in on Snow’s wedding would’ve been beyond humiliating and I wouldn’t even _care_.

Not that it matters. Magickal engagement is _as_ _good_ as a wedding. _I’m not an adulterer_. (I would still do it for him. I’ll do _anything_ for him.)

I suppose if I killed Wellbelove, their magickal engagement will be null and void. But I very much doubt Snow would appreciate that.

And I don’t want to be more of a monster than I already am. _I could never take a human life_ , not even hers. And I hate her at this moment more than I ever hated a human before. 

If Snow wanted to experiment I would have been too weak to refuse him. Because I love him, I would’ve been grateful for any scaps he would deem to throw my way. (I hate myself for that.)

“It will only bring you more pain, you moron,” I keep reminding myself. Yes. _I’m_ the moron, thanks to Simon bloody Snow. Welcome to my personal corner of Hell.

But this isn’t Snow plan to experiment with homosexuality. No, this is something else. This is about destroying me. “You’re the love of my life,” he said.

 _That_ he could never mean. That is so utterly impossible that it’s just comical. Nobody could love me that much. (That right there was the biggest telltales that it was all a big ruse, a lie to destroy me.) 

And Snow practically reading it all from a paper. I saw the piece of paper behind his back.

Did Wellbelove write that or did Bunce do it? Must be Wellbelove, I refuse to believe Bunce is capable of this kind of cruelty.

Bunce isn’t evil. Wellbelove is. There’s a heart of stone behind all the shining blond hair and polished smiles. 

_Crowley. I hate her so much!_

I never expected that Snow would throw at me something like that, something _so_ _cruel_ in its core that I can hardly breathe after hearing it. Obviously, I didn’t believe _any_ of it. _What kind of an idiot does Snow take me for?_

“The only way I would ever choose you would be if you compelled me to. And now I have to worry about you doing that. The thought of spending a whole year with you makes me sick to my stomach,” I finally spat out and left the room.

I _regret_ the words as soon as the door closes behind me. But I wasn’t ready for what happened. I shouldn’t have said what I said but _Snow broke me_.

I didn’t actually want to hurt him. I just needed to protect myself somehow from all the pain, from the kind of agony I never knew was possible.

I thought to find out about him and Wellbelove getting engaged was anguish.

No, Snow saying those words to me without meaning any of them was a million times worse. How could he? _Why_ would he? 

I really didn’t want to hurt him though. I spent the night at the Catacombs, awake, slowly losing my mind.

I was alternating between wishing to go back and _spit on Snow_ for pretending to care for me (or in other words admitting that he got to me) and _begging for his forgiveness on my bare knees_ for the last thing I told him (which would be as much as an admission of my feelings to him).

I settled for staying put in the Catacombs, thinking that in both cases I was being truly pathetic. 

This whole ruse couldn’t have been Snow’s idea. He’s _too dumb_ for that and _too innocent_. Wellbelove must have told him that he could somehow prove that I’m a vampire by doing that.

She must have convinced him that it was important to reveal my secret and get rid of me once and for all. (So they can finally ride into the sunset together.)

And Snow would believe anyone who’ll tell him they know a way to prove that I’m a vampire.

That’s all he ever cared about. I guess I always assumed there were lines _Snow wouldn’t cross_.

I don’t understand why Wellbelove would have wanted to humiliate me like that.

What would she _gain_ from that? And why would Snow _go along_ with it? This seems _too much_ even for him.

I didn’t think he had it in him. It’s possible that now that they are engaged, Snow will do anything to keep her happy.

That is a reasonable assumption. Snow probably thinks he won the lottery with that shrew, _Chomsky only knows why_. 

This game Snow is playing with me _isn’t funny_ anymore. Now it’s just cruel. It’s inhumane. (Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I’m not human. That’s beside the point.)

A monster deserves a sword through its heart. A monster doesn’t deserve being tortured before the execution. That’s just _not right_. 

Maybe Snow isn’t as pure as I’d liked to believe.

I know he keeps killing magical creatures like flies. I never saw him put a collar on one and poke it with his sword until it bleeds from every inch of its body _before_ finishing it off.

I might be special then. _This_ doesn’t make me feel special. It makes me feel empty and worthless.

_Stop twisting the sword in my gut, Snow._

_Kill me_ fair _and_ square _, looking straight in my eyes._

I’m not going to play along with whatever _this_ is supposed to be. 

I couldn’t even go to Dev and Niall’s room after that exchange with Snow. I couldn’t face anybody after that. I felt too raw, too broken and had to spend the night in the Catacombs instead.

I could swear I felt Snow’s magic sizzling around. (My brain trying to torture me some more I presume.) Snow wasn’t at the Catacombs. (I would have heard him.)

Not everything I said to Snow was a lie.

When I said that I couldn’t imagine spending my last year here with him was true. But only because I suspect after everything that transpired today that he knows how I feel about him. Because what if that’s what it was all about?

He didn’t do this to me in order to find out I was a vampire or because his little blond princess wanted me hurt.

Maybe, just maybe, Snow figured it out somehow, that I’m in love with him and wanted to humiliate me and have a good laugh about it afterwards. Maybe this was his own doing with the help of Wellbelove. 

That’s is also partially why I said that last part, to try and cover up the fact that I wanted Snow to mean everything he said. I can’t live out the last year in peace with him knowing it all. Right now though, it hardly feels as though it made any difference.

I’m not sure how I could ever face him again. Even though I hurt him back, even though I’m quite sure he can’t suspect my true feelings to him. (Not after what I said at the end.)

Still. I know what I feel and now I know what it would sound like if he did feel the same. _He doesn’t feel the same_ , I know that. 

Yet I can’t get his words out of my head.

“I’m in love with you, Baz.”

 _Snow didn’t mean it._ But I’m still going to torture myself with those words for the rest of my life. So much for starting over with a fresh slate. I honestly didn’t think it could get any worse. 

It was foolish of me to hope for something better. I shouldn’t have come back to Watford. 

* * *

I skipped breakfast because honestly, I’m not sure when I will be able to eat again. I was desperately trying to put my feelings in check.

The summer was supposed to help and it did until a certain degree. And then bloody Snow has to go and ruin it all. I keep forgetting that I will always lose to him.

Still, today I’m regretting, even more, the last part I said to him. After what he did to me yesterday with his so-called joke, I think a lot of bad things about him.

But still, he didn’t deserve me telling him _that_. I know Snow would never compel someone in order to have his way with them. He’ll gladly punch people (if they are capable of fighting back), but he would never do something as despicable as that.

Yes, I regret those words. But Snow was ripping my undead heart apart piece by piece and was taking joy in it. How could he be so cruel?

Why was he so cruel? I’m a soulless monster but surely even I deserve some compassion.

So I gave him a bit of his own medicine. So he’ll know how it feels when someone hurts you. I became true to my nature, a true monster at that moment and said the worst thing I could think of, something to hurt him. 

I chose to believe that he’ll get over it soon enough. It’s not like my opinion matters to him.

I don’t matter to Snow and by extension, nothing I have to say to him matters either. As soon as the initial shock of our interaction wears off he won’t care, he won’t lose a second of sleep because of it.

He’ll go back to his golden princess and can laugh this whole conversation off with her.

While I’ll be here in the Catacombs wishing I was more dead than I am. I don’t even have an appetite for blood. I tried draining a rat. It came right back up.

I wasn’t expecting today to go like this, with me heaving in the Catacombs. But here I am, lying on the ground and cursing my undead life. Worst-case scenario, I bruised his ego a bit too much. _Snow will survive._ I’m not so sure about myself.

I don’t know what I expected. That I got over Snow over the Summer, that he would finally leave me alone.

When I pass the dining hall on my way to class, I see Bunce walking my way.

“Good Morning, Basil. Could I have a word?”

Why would Bunce want to talk to _me_? (We don’t talk.) This is uncanny.

“Good Morning, Bunce. By all means,” I respond but internally wish I could just run away right now. The last thing I want is to have a word with Snow’s sidekick.

Does she know about what happened yesterday and wants to rub it in my face? That can’t be it. Bunce wouldn’t have approved of any of it if she knew, I don’t think.

#  **PENELOPE**

Basil looks.. _uncharacteristically_ is perhaps the right word.. a bit dishevelled looking, and in distress. That isn’t his usual look.

He looks more like _Simon_ than anything. Perhaps this isn’t the best time but I do need to talk to him.

He seems surprised that I would start a conversation with him.

I am well aware that we never talk. Which is for the best really. If I was to become friends with Baz Pitch, I would eventually let it slip how much Simon talks about him. (Simon would _never_ forgive me for that.) 

Not that I want or have a need for more friends. I have one, — Simon and he’s a handful. And I do believe that one should not have more than three friends in any case.

Life is too short to waste your time on people.

But here I am, talking to Basil because I have no idea where Simon is. I spent breakfast waiting for him but he hasn’t shown up.

Not once since the day that Simon started at Watford has he missed breakfast. (Unless he was on a mission for the Mage. But I would know about that.)

This is very unlike him. I’m not worried but I do want to know what happened. 

He could have overslept after doing whatever it is he was supposed to do yesterday. Simon hasn’t told me what it was.

He just said that it was something important and that he will tell me after if he can. Simon doesn’t keep secrets from me.

This is unusual, to say the least. That is why I need to ask Basil a few questions.

“Was Simon still sleeping when you left this morning?”

Basil gives me a strange look as if I said something wrong. The question I asked was so mundane that I can’t for the life of me understand why he would react in such a manner.

“No, I haven’t seen him this morning,” he answeres with a clear undertone of _something_. 

“Alright. Do you have any idea where Simon was yesterday? He said he had to do something important but he never told me what or where.”

He is giving me that look again. _What am I missing here?_

“I’m not surprised. Shouldn’t his blushing bride know where Snow went? I hear congratulations are in order,” Baz says and sneers at me.

“What are you on about, Basil?” He’s making no sense. And why is he _sneering_?

“I know Snow stopped time for Wellbelove. I’m surprised he hasn't killed us all with that spell,” He’s practically _snarling_ now. 

What in Morgana’s name is going on here? Stopped time? Simon should never perform time-altering magic.

 _Great snakes,_ has Basil gone bonkers?

“Are you completely mad, Basil? I would never let Simon cast that kind of spell!”

“I am well aware, Bunce,” Baz smirks a nasty little smirk at me. ”I just assumed you convinced him to go with a symbolic spell.”

“Symbolic spell for what exactly?” What is he talking about? Basil _has_ gone mad. I’m sure of it now.

“For the proposal,” He says and then as if he can see the doubt in my head, adds, “to Wellbelove over this summer.”

 _Oh_. I see. This must be some kind of misunderstanding.

“Well, Basil. First, the spell is for Micah.”

“Who?” He looks very confused and angry.

I’m not used to this combination from the great Baz Pitch.

He’s supposed to be my only academic rival. He beat me by a mile last year. (I have Simon to blame for that.) I wonder if this year, due to clearly heavy mental issues, I might finish top of our class.

“My boyfriend from America. He spent our fourth year here as an exchange student.”

The confusion hasn’t left his face, but the anger seems to be gone at least. “The little one with the glasses?”

“Not so little anymore. I’m going to propose to him by _making time stop_ ,” I point that part out because Basil seems to be having troubles understanding simple English language at the moment.

“Oh. That’s- That’s lovely, Bunce.”

I’ve never heard Baz stammer before. _What is happening here?_

“And second, Basilton. Simon and Agatha broke up.”

And just like that his bad mood is back. He glares at me now. 

“I wouldn’t be worried about that. Wellbelove keeps breaking up with Snow on a regular basis. The golden couple will be back together in no time,” he all but spits the words in my face. 

What is it with him? Basil is many things but he is always polite and composed. The person standing in front of me is _neither_.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but they won’t be getting back together again, because _Simon_ is the one who broke up with Agatha,” I say because I’ve been waiting for this day since they started dating three years ago and I don’t mind bragging.

They weren’t good for each other but Simon just wouldn’t listen. I’m not sure what finally got him to realize what I’ve known for the last three years, but I’m glad he did.

Basil looks as if though I just slapped him. I thought he would be happy. I thought he fancied Agatha.

“When did he do that?” He asks and his voice is wavering for some reason.

“The day she came back for the beginning of this term.” I answer, but then I get a bit curious about all of this so I add, ”Why does that matter specifically?”

“If you’ll excuse me, Bunce, I have somewhere else to be,” he chokes out and just like that starts running in the opposite direction of where we were going.

 _We were going to class we both share._ He’ll never get back in time.

“But we have class in five minutes,” I call after him but he’s already gone.

Basil can sure be fast when he wants to.

Maybe Simon is right and he is a vampire. Basil does play football, so that is probably a more logical explanation. I don’t actually know how fast footballers are. Never paid them any attention. (I’m not Simon.)

I still wonder about this bizarre conversation I just had with Basil. I don’t think he is feeling well. And I would ask him about it but I don’t think it’s any of my business. Besides, I have Simon to worry about.

With _Baz plotting this_ and _Baz plotting that_ , I have hardly any time left for studies. 

#  **BAZ**

I run to the Mummers House — to Snow’s rum, our room... I don’t know anymore... He’s not there and his cushion is missing. 

Where would Snow have gone? Did he not sleep here last night because of what I said?

I’m not sure where to look for him. Maybe he went to the goatherd. (What was her name again? Petty, Perry something. Petty, I think.) I hear they’re close.

And with that in mind, I leave for the Wavering Wood. I need to find Snow.

I still don’t believe that he meant any of the things he said, but his breaking up with Wellbelove changes things.

I can’t explain it.

I still don’t know why he said what he said to me yesterday but I can’t let him think that he is making me uncomfortable. (He is making me uncomfortable, but I know he would never hurt me like _that_.) 

The last thing I told him. Why did I say that to him? _What’s wrong with me?_

At least I could apologize for that. He should know I didn’t mean it. If I have to, I’ll tell him the truth. I tell him that I’m in love with him. I tell him anything he needs to hear to come back to our room.

Even if he was playing the outmost cruellest joke on me, I can’t let him feel hurt this way. I need to make things right.

After I will stay in the room with him if he wants me to or move to Dev and Niall if he prefers that.

If me being in love with him will _make him uncomfortable_. (Will it make him uncomfortable? I don’t know anything anymore.)

I just want him to be okay. I’m slightly worried that I hurt him too much. But I’m sure is just him thinking that I didn’t want to spend the night in the same room as him.

That’s what made him leave and stay the night over at the goatherd’s cottage. That must be it, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s more than that. I’m worried that I truly hurt his feelings.

“Good Morning, miss Petty,” I greet the goatherd as soon as I spot her by the cottage.

“Hiya, Young Master Pitch! And Ebb is fine, I’m no teacher,” she responds with a smile.

I nod. “Ebb then. You can call me Baz. Is Simon Snow here by any chance?”

She looks at me with a sad smile.

“Simon left last night deary.”

What?

“Left where? The school just started.”

“I recon school doesn’t matter to Simon anymore.”

“Where did he go?”

“That I can’t tell you, Baz. That’s all I know.”

_Simon..._

Ebb must see the disappointment on my face and adds “Miss Possibelf came by with a note from Simon earlier today. Do you want to read it? I have it somewhere here,” she says and starts rummaging through her pockets.

“Yes, thank you. I would greatly appreciate it,” I answer and wait.

  
  


‘Due to personal reasons’

_Aleister Crowley._

I’m those personal reasons. Snow- no, _Simon_ left because of me. Because everything he said yesterday was true. He can’t fight me because he is in love with me. Simon meant everything he said and I _broke his heart_. 

No! This can’t be happening.

_What have I done?_

I feel tears swelling in my eyes. I don’t bother doing anything about it. At this point, the last thing I care about is who will and will not see me cry. Simon is all I can think about. Nothing else matters.

“Are you sure you don’t have the slightest idea where he might have gone? It’s important.” I’m practically choking the words out. My throat feels too tight.

“Don’t know what to tell ya. We never spoke about life after Watford. I gather Simon didn’t want to think about that,” Ebb sighs. Of course, he hasn’t. Why am I not surprised?

“Alright then. Thank you for your help. I’ll be best on my way back to school.”

She gives me a contemplating look.

“Are you,” she asks and puts emphasis on the words, “or are you going to look for Simon?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I say but I already know that I am going after Simon.

“I’m sorry Simon’s gone. But maybe it’s for the best.”

Simon leaving after what happened yesterday is not for the best. I have to find him and bring him back. Simon belongs here, at Watford. 

“I don’t think it is. Have a nice day, Ebb.”

“Bye, deary. And good luck,” she gives me another sad smile.

I return back to our room and start looking through Simon’s things, tears spilling from my eyes. (It is _our room_. It will _always_ be our room.)

His rucksack is gone too, not just the cushion. I check Simon’s wardrobe. Everything seems to still be there. But I don’t actually know anymore what he has and doesn’t have. We spent a year apart.

_Where did you go, Simon?_

I send a text to my aunt and go over to Dev and Niall. I’m making up a plan as I go.

 **Baz (10:46):** I need you to come and pick me up from Watford. This is an emergency.

**Missed call Fiona (10:52)**

**Missed call Fiona (10:52)**

**Fiona (10:53):** For fuck’s sake, Basil! Answer your bloody phone! 

**Missed call Fiona (10:53)**

**Baz (10:56):** Sorry, as you know, my mobile is on silence. Will you come and get me?

 **Fiona (10:57):** Yes! What happened? Are you hurt???

 **Baz (10:58):** I was not hurt by anyone. When will you be here?

 **Fiona (10:59):** I’m on my way now! Give me an hour and a half at most.

* * *

“Simon Snow is missing,” I declare to Niall and Dev as soon as I step through the door.

Niall gives me a look. “Missing how precisely? I’ve seen him yesterday.”

“He left last night after a particularly devastating conversation with me,” I say and try to keep my voice from cracking too much. 

Pull yourself together, Basilton! 

You aren’t helping Simon by being _hysterical_!

You need to stay sharp and think!

“And that is bad how exactly?” Dev asks.

“It is extremely bad. I have to go after Simon as soon as possible.”

“Oh it’s _Simon_ , is it? Why, pray tell, are we calling Snow by his first name now?” Niall picks up on things rather fast.

I have to explain otherwise they won’t understand what is going on. I hate to explain any of it. I hate to think about what I’ve done.

I breathe it all out in a mumble of words. I can’t talk about this.

Niall comes closer and takes my hand. It’s shaking. (I haven’t noticed.) “What can we do?”

“I will tell Miss Possibelf that I’m leaving due to a family emergency. Stick to the story. Fiona will help me track him.” (I’m assuming she will. My aunt loves me. She’ll do anything for me.)

“Yeah, alright. Anything else?”

“Don’t tell anyone about any of this.”

“We won’t tell anyone, mate,” Dev says. 

Niall is still holding my hand. I haven’t noticed that either. It’s still shaking. (Or maybe my whole body is shaking.) (I can’t tell anymore.)

Soon after I leave for my room to gather anything I might need to bring with.

Clothes? I’m not planning on returning to Hamshire to pack.

Father will be livid if he finds out about this. He can’t stop me from going now that I’m of legal age. But I would still appreciate not to have to waste time on pointless arguing. 

When I enter our room, I see Bunce sitting on Simon’s bed, crying her eyes out. This can’t be a good sign. This can’t be just about the War.

As soon as she sees me she begins apologizing.

“I’m sorry, Basil, I know I’m not supposed to be here. But I just needed to check something,” she says through heavy sobs.

I can’t cry now. _For Crowley’s sake, Basilton, don’t cry!_

“Yes, of course,” is what I manage to say.

I can see that Bunce went through Simon’s wardrobe. She might have found something missing because she looks even more devastated than before.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her.

“Miss Possibelf told me Simon resigned from Watford. I came to see for myself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Bunce. I know you were close,” I try to keep my voice from cracking. I can’t tell her. She won’t believe me and she won’t tell me anything.

“Simon is gone and he took his gold.”

“His what?” How is that important?

“He kept gold in a duffel bag in the wardrobe,” she says.

I did know that Simon had gold. He spent years not trusting me not to drain him in his sleep but he did trust me with his gold.

Bunce must have gone through Simon’s desk too. It looks too tidy. It doesn’t seem as if she found anything of importance.

She is quiet for a few sobs before continuing. “It can’t be good. It means he thought about it. It means it wasn’t on the spur of the moment.”

Bunce is right. I’m not sure if this is bad or good though that Simon thought about this. Maybe it’ll help him along the way. I want desperately to think it does.

“Basil, how was Simon mentally when you last saw him? Have you seen him yesterday at all? You were late this year.”

“I couldn’t say,” I lie. Because there is no chance in Hell Bunce will tell me anything if she knew what I’ve done. Instead, I add. “Do you know why he left?”

Bunce looks deflected after my question.

“No,” she says. “He just left a note for me with Miss Possibelf. He told her that he didn’t want to fight in the War. But that’s not what he wrote to me. It makes no sense.”

This is what I’ve been waiting for. Simon’s note to Bunce has to include more about his plans. I should try and comfort Bunce as a normal person would, but instead, I’m fishing for information.

“Sometimes a second pair of eyes could be useful. Perhaps I could be of any help,” I’m cautiously trying to convince her to show me the note.

I need all the clues about Simon’s possible whereabouts I can get my hands on.

Bunce takes out a note from her pocket and hands it to me.

  


  
  
_No!_

Simon is going to get himself killed fighting the Humdrum alone. _I have to find him before that._

“What did you talk about last year?” I ask her. There is a hint there, I’m just not sure to what.

“We talked about so many things,” she answeres still crying. “Mostly about you plotting,” a little huff escaped her lips through the sniffing. “And the Humdrum.”

Will anyone even look for him? The Mage wouldn’t care unless the War breaks out. And if the word gets to him that Simon won’t be fighting in the War, the Mage has no reason to look for him.

“You can still find him with a good tracking spell. Even if it might take a while,” I say because Bunce looks absolutely devastated.

And this will surely reassure her. Bunce must be in shock to not have thought about that herself yet.

This is the only comfort I can give her. We aren’t close and I can’t go for a hug. I’m pretty sure if I did hug Bunce, I would end up crying alongside her.

And I need to think clearly right now. My tears won’t help him. I don’t tell her that tracking Simon is exactly what I’m planning to do with Fiona’s help.

As soon as I say the words her face contorts into something.. something awful. She is looking terrified and terrifying all at once.

“Can I see the note again, Basil,” she states it as a question but it comes out desperate and almost demanding.

“Yes, of course,” I give her the note. Did she think of something? To my greatest surprise after reading it one more time, Bunce puts it on fire with a spell.

**_“In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire_ **

**_That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,_ **

**_As the death-bed whereon it must expire”_ **

There are not even any ashes left. It’s a complicated spell and requires a healthy amount of magic. It’s extremely draining. After this kind fo spell, Bunce would probably not have enough magic for anything else today.

The only reason one would use this spell is if they want to make sure no one could ever restore what was destroyed. There is no undoing this. “As you were” won’t work and neither any other restorative spells. 

Bunce is destroying evidence. Evidence of what specifically? It was just a note.

Ebb Petty got a note too. And Miss Possibelf knows about Simon’s resignation. What have I missed in that note except for the Humdrum?

Does she not want anyone to know about that? But I know already. And Dev and Niall too. None of us will tell anyone but obviously, Bunce doesn’t know that I can be trusted.

“ _Bunce_ ,” I exclaim. “Is everything alright?”

She looks as if she’s seen a ghost while trying to scold her facial expression.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Basil. Everything is fine. Simon left and it’s terrible. But it’s his choice. Eights year is optional as you well know. Let Simon live his life in peace. We shouldn’t interfere.”

She is talking nonsense and she knows it. She looks spooked if anything. What was it the note that scared her this much? Bunce isn’t one of the faint-hearted.

“Let Simon live his life in peace? He is going after the Humdrum. He is going to get himself killed, Bunce,” I’m raising my voice but I really don’t have it in me to care about that.

“Simon left because he didn’t want to fight in the War, Basil. That’s what Miss Possibelf said,” she says and we both know it’s a lie. Her face looks resigned. Bunce isn’t crying anymore.

“What did you see in that note?” It comes out as a whisper.

Something clicked in her head while we were talking, I know that much. 

“What note?” Bunce’s voice and eyes are cold as ice. _What note?_ What the Hell?

“The one you gave me to read,” I say but I’m losing any hope of her telling me anything. Bunce seems determined not to share any more information with me.

“I haven’t given you a note. You are clearly mistaken,” she tells me.

“What?” I ask. She’s talking nonsense.

“And if anyone asks, that is exactly what I will say,” Bunce presses further. “Thank you for letting me in here. Good Day, Basil.”

#  **PENELOPE**

I had to destroy the note Simon left for me. I didn’t understand at first what he meant about last year or why I shouldn’t look for him.

As soon as Basil mentioned using tracking spells everything clicked in place.

Simon found a book filled to the brim with blood oath and rituals. I never like blood magic. It’s too unpredictable and in this particular case even very dangerous. Simon showed me a spell that would make a mage magickaly untrackable.

He wanted to use it in order to gain advantage against the Humdrum. 

The problem is that a person who uses that spell will lose their soul in the process.

I can’t trust Basil with this information. Sure, Basil was polite to Simon last year.

But there’s something in the way he looks at him. He’s got a mad glint in his eyes for Simon. If he gets a chance to stab him in the back, I think he might take it.

With that taken care of, I need to think. I have to find Simon. How would I go about doing that exactly? I can’t use a tracking spell and Mum will never let me leave Watford to go and look for Simon.

And I can’t tell her that he used a banned spell. Mum’s on the Coven.

#  **BAZ**

_What the actual fuck is going on here?_

There are only two options as to why Bunce is acting in this particular absurd manner.

She somehow got off her rockers from grief within the span of the few minutes we’ve been talking or Bunce realized something that is so dangerous to Simon that she is willing to lie and use that amount of magic to keep it hidden. 

I strongly suspect it’s the latter.

Penelope Bunce doesn’t look mental, she looks _determined_. And she would go to any length in order to protect Simon.

I always knew that. That has been one of the main reasons why I always liked Bunce, that and because she’s brilliant. Bunce thinks she is protecting Simon by destroying that note. But the note was innocent enough. Wasn’t it? 

What did Simon tell her? What has she realized? I remember the note to the last letter.

I don’t write it down because if there is something incriminating against Simon between those lines, I wouldn’t want it to get in the wrong hands.

But I keep going through it in my mind, trying to make sense of it all. I have to ask Fiona what she thinks. Maybe she’ll pick up on something I’ve missed.

But I can’t quite manage to get the latest interaction with Bunce out of my head. Why was she so scared?

_What have you done, Simon?_

The stupid tears are back. Crying is the last thing I need. What I need is to come up with a plan. But I'm too weak to stay on my feet. I lie down to think.

As soon as my head hits the cushion I feel Simon. There is no scent of my shampoo, only Simon’s school-issued soap. This is _Simon’s_ cushion. 

That must mean that Simon took mine. Something inside me breaks at that thought. 

Simon is all alone now with only my cushion for comfort. This is my doing. I am a real waste of space, aren’t I? We could have been… Oh, I don’t know… We could have been _together_ now in any way he would have wanted to. (I want any and every way with Simon.)

We could have been happy and in love. Well.. we are still in love. But Simon doesn’t know that, he’s far away, alone and thinks I hate him.

_I hate myself a little more now._

Right. There is no time to lose. I need to talk to Bunce again. She knows something and I will get to the bottom of it one way or another.

If I have a mobile at Watford, I would bet that so does Bunce. (She never cared for rules enforced by the Mage.) I hope I still have her number. 

I did have her number after all. I sent her a text.

 **Baz (11:35):** Bunce, this is T.Basilton Grimm-Pitch. If you be so kind as to come to our room at your earliest convenience. Not too late though. I am leaving Watford in approximately one hour.

 **Bunce (11:40):** Fine. I’m on my way, Basil.

How much should I tell her? 

While I wait for Bunce I throw anything I might need in my bags. I’ll make sense of it all later. There’s no time for tidiness.

#  **PENELOPE**

Basil has a phone here. I have to say I’m surprised. He usually follows all the rules. (Even the once he hates.) I could never do that myself. Ridiculous rules are made for being broken.

I need to know what he wants. It must be something important if he is willing to compromise himself by letting me know he has mobile at school.

I let myself back into Mummers’ House. (My Mum broke the wards when she went to Watford so she could visit my Dad.) (Now every female from Bunce’s bloodline can come in.)

When I enter their room, Basil is standing right in the middle, with a very severe expression. I never noticed how dramatic he can be. 

“I am leaving Watford to look for Simon.” That comes as a shock.

“Why are you helping Simon?”

“I don’t see why that matters, Bunce.” Basil has the audacity to say that to me. When Simon’s ex-nemesis decides to help him I need to know why. (Are they ex-nemesis? They have to be. Basil left Simon alone last year. Not even a curse or a sneer.)

“Listen carefully, Basil. I would do anything to keep Simon safe. He’s my best friend.” He stays silent so I go on.

“I deserve to know what exactly is going on here. If you won’t tell me here and now, I will find Simon myself and take him away and hide him somewhere where no one will be able to find.”

I’m bluffing. I can’t actually leave Watford, but Baz doesn’t have to know that.

For a moment, he looks absolutely livid. Like he could strike me here and now. But then he just sighs and in an instance, all of the anger is drained from his face. Instead, he just looks, if I’m not mistaken.. _heart-broken._

“Right then.” 

“Yes?” I press. _It’s time to start spilling the beans, Basil._ I think to myself.

“I want to help Simon because I’m in love with him.” He looks me square in the eye when he says that. Doesn’t even twitch.

“You what?” It comes out more confused than anything.

“You heard me the first time, Bunce. I’m sure.” He sneers this time.

Basil is being difficult on purpose. He’s a bit of an arse. Simon was right about that at least.

“Since when?” I press.

“Almost since the beginning.”

I’m lost here. “Beginning of _what_?”

He looks at me like I’m a special kind of an idiot. (It’s not a great feeling.)

“Since the beginning of school. Sometime during our first year. I didn’t realize that it was love until the fifth year.”

To say that this revelation takes me by surprise would be an understatement. Basil isn’t joking, I don’t think.

“Then what was the six years of _fighting_ all about?” I had to ask that because it makes no sense.

“Getting over Simon or getting any or all attention I could. It varied from time to time.”

I guess that could happen. 

“Why did you leave Simon alone last year?” This makes even _less sense_.

“I happened to overhear something that led me to believe that Simon was going to propose to Wellbelove,” He says with a severe expression on his face.

Now the conversation from this morning makes sense. 

_But shouldn’t he have just told Simon instead?_

“Does Simon know?”

“No.”

“Do you know if he feels the same?”

I have been curious about the possibility of Simon feeling something other than simple anger towards Basil.

“Yes.” My suspicions were correct then. 

“How long have you known?”

“Since I read the note he wrote to Ebb the goatherd before leaving.”

“ _What?_ ”

“He told me about his feelings yesterday but I didn’t believe him. I thought he was playing a cruel joke together with Wellbelove. I thought it was a plot to humiliate me. “

So this was the important thing Simon had to do yesterday and refused to tell me about. It makes so much sense. This does explain Basil’s dishevelled state earlier.

“Merry Morgana. You two and _plots_. You are both morons.”

“Well... Yes... I know that _now_.”

“You are the reason Simon left,” I accuse. 

“Yes. I made him believe that his being here was threatening to me and my wellbeing.” Basil looks guilty as he should. 

“Fuck a nine toed troll, Basil. This whole situation could have been avoided if the two of you had spent more time talking and less time growling and sneering.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I should have spelt the two of you mum from day one.”

“You couldn’t have, you aren’t on the Coven, Bunce.”

“I would have managed to find a way.”

“Well, Bunce. If anyone could, you would have. You’re quite brilliant.”

That’s the nicest thing Baz ever said to me. I think it’s the nicest thing _anyone_ has ever said to me beside Simon. Simon thinks I’m a genius. I’m really not. But I _am_ brilliant.

Simon and Basil do make sense when you think about it. But you can never be too sure when it comes to trust.

“Would you swear with magic?”

Basil didn’t even have to think, he just answered _Yes_ right on the spot.

I take his hand. “We’ll do whatever it takes to save Simon”. 

Basil repeats my words after me.

Then I tap on our joined hands. **_“An Englishman’s word is his bond!”_ **

“You do realize, Basil, that this is a very sexist spell.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Bunce I can’t just magic a new oath spell for you right here on the spot. We have bigger problems than that right now, wouldn’t you agree?”

I tell Basil everything about the hidden chamber, banned books and the spell Simon found.

When I’m done, he’s white as a ghost. (He looks more like a vampire by the minute.)

“I need that book, Bunce. The one Simon used, to show my aunt.”

That’s when I remember that Simon had a nose bleed yesterday. (I know now why he was so nervous.) I landed him my handkerchief and I still have it in my room.

“Meet me by the Poet’s corner in the White Chapel in ten minutes.”

When we get in I cast “Fine-tooth comb — blood oath.” Several books come flying but the one we are looking for isn’t here. Simon must have taken it with.

Baz casts “Fine-tooth comb — healing magic.” More books fly our way. He gathers them all and the books on blood oaths too. 

“We won’t know what we might need. Better safe than sorry,” He says without magic.

Of course Basil’s right. We won’t know what to do or how to help Simon.

“Take the handkerchief, Basil. Perhaps having Simon’s blood will help.”

He nods. “Thank you, Bunce.”

“Keep me informed on any progress you’ll make,” I ask him.

“Of course.”

I can only hope Basil can find Simon.

#  **BAZ**

I found Miss Possibelf in her office and told her I was leaving due to a family emergency and that my aunt will call her today to confirm that statement. 

“A family emergency?” She didn’t look surprised but she also looked as though she didn’t believe me.

“Yes. That is correct, miss Possibelf,” I answered as calmly as I could. Did I look calm? The last thing I need is for people to get suspicious.

Miss Possibelf studied me for a few moments.

“Best of luck, Basilton,” she finally responded. “I hope you will find him.” Her face and voice were speaking volumes. 

Did she know about us? How did she know? Not that there is any _us_ , thanks to my stupidity.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean by that,” I said because I didn’t know how to talk about this with a teacher.

I hardly knew how to talk about this with Fiona, Niall, Dev and Bunce. (That’s already four people, right there.) And also because I didn’t want people knowing where I was going. 

“Stubborn young men, the both of you,” Miss Possibelf was sighing. “Just make sure it doesn’t end badly.”

I haven’t bothered answering and wished Miss Possibelf good day instead. I hope it wouldn’t end badly. But it might be already too late.

I just hope we can truck him despite Bunce saying that he is untrackable.

We should still try. Most spells are short-ranged, I know that much at least. Fiona might know better ones. I have no bloody idea where Simon has gone. Where would the Humdrum be?

* * *

As soon as I’m done packing the books I took from the hidden chamber, I take all my bags and go pass school gates to wait for Fiona.

I brought Simon’s cushion with me. I need to feel close to him in order to keep myself from breaking. (I’m terrified thinking about what might happen to Simon if he tries to fight the Humdrum by himself.)

My aunt flew in like a fury on her red roadster. She couldn’t have looked more conspicuous if she tried.

But I did ask her to come here immediately, so that’s clearly on me. I don’t let Fiona get out of the car and slid in beside her.

“What’s wrong, Basil?” Fiona looks more than a little concerned.

“Drive somewhere we can talk in private and I explain everything,” I say.

She looks more worried by the minute. 

“Are you sure you are not hurt?” Fiona trails off. I must look as shaken as I feel.

“No one hurt me. Just drive.” Let her interpret that as she wishes. I hurt myself by hurting Simon.

“Fine,” she retorts but doesn’t add anything more. Instead, she is blasting Led Zeppelin on her ancient radio. (It’s a cassette player because installing a real stereo would _ruin the aesthetics,_ Fiona’s words.) 

_Aleister fucking Crowley._ Why am I thinking about the radio right now?

Fiona drove us for a full half an hour on back roads. (I was not expecting that.) My aunt is nothing if not paranoid. She and Simon would have gotten along well under different circumstances.

_Simon._

As soon as Fiona stops the car, she looks at me.

“Alright, boyo. Tell me what happened.”

I tell her everything.

She takes her time to answer, obviously choosing her words carefully.

“It’s not as bad as you would like to believe. It hasn’t even been 24 hours, Basil. Even police don’t take in missing person reports after that short period of time.”

Before I get to ask my aunt what the police has to do with it all, she continues. “What I meant to say is that your Chosen One couldn’t have gotten far. And there is no chance he already has found the Humdrum. More experienced and more knowledgeable mages tried and failed to locate that thing.”

“That might be true, but I doubt anyone is more determined than Simon. And the Humdrum keeps attacking _him_ personally,” I protest.

“That does complicate things, still doesn’t mean I won’t be able to find him in time.”

“There’s more,” I say and tell her everything Bunce told me.

“The Coven will kill him, Basil, if they find out. Him and any accomplices he might have. That’s us if we don’t turn him in. There won’t be a trial. It’s mage law.”

I couldn’t have heard her right.

“They _what_?”

“The boy will lose his soul, and nothing good will come of him after that. He will be very dangerous once the process is through.” 

I don't know what she means by that. I don’t have a soul. Simon will be just like me. That’s it. He’ll still be himself.

“How could the Coven do that? I don’t have a soul. That doesn’t make me _dangerous enough_ to kill.” The Coven defangs vampires, doesn’t kill them.

“It’s different. You only _think_ you don’t have a soul, boyo. Your Chosen One is losing his as we speak. What will be left of him isn’t someone you’d want to meet in a dark alley, Basil.”

_Simon is in danger. We need to save him._

“Can we do something to stop it?”

“I don't know. We have to find him first.”

“ _Will_ you still help me track him? What about the Coven?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says and sneers. “I’m number one on their hit list as it is. Won’t make any difference to me.”

I’m fairly certain it makes all the difference, Fiona is just choosing not to tell that me and she’s choosing to help me. I’m lucky to have her as an aunt.

“Thank you,” I say and feel tears prickling at my eyes again. “Where does that leave us? Can we _find_ him?”

Fiona nods.

“Eventually, I think yes. Having his blood means we have a bigger chance. In the end, it depends mostly on how powerful the person casting a tracking spell is.

I have enough magic, Basil. I will find him. It’ll just take longer than I initially thought,” she seams less concerned now.

That’s good.

“ _We_ will find him,” I say. “If you think I will go back to school, you have another thing coming.”

Fiona raises her eyebrow at me. 

“Are you sure, Basil? Tracking isn’t exactly the upscale experience you’re used to.”

“Don’t make me _laugh_ , Fiona. Do you really think I care about comfort at times like these? You need to call Miss Possibelf and excuse me from school. I’m not setting my foot at Watford again without _Simon_.”

#  **FIONA**

I don’t know what spell Basil’s Chosen One used and I can only hope that the process will be slow. I can’t tell Basil any of it yet. He’s already looking as if he is on the end of his rope.

Basil’s determined, I’ll give him that. He wants to search for his bloke even after hearing about the spell, the consequences and the Coven. _The boy is in love_ , Tasha. What am I to say to that? Of course, I have to help him. Who else is there? It’s just the two of us left. 

And I won’t let him sulk back at Watford while I’m looking for his Chosen One. If I keep him with me I might keep him out of doing something stupid.

Because he looks at me and he’s made of trouble. He’ll be too busy searching for his bloke with me to worry himself grey.

He’s giving _the look_. It’s the Pitch look. The one that says that nothing can change his mind. That it’s set in stone.

You would have been proud of him, sister. Basil does what he feels is right in his bones. He has a heart of gold even if he himself doesn’t see that.

“Fine,” I say and he relaxes a bit.

I hope we’ll find _his_ _bloody idiot_ in time.

#  **BAZ**

“Alright then,” I can finally exhale and also mention that I already talked to Miss Possibelf and Fiona needs to call and confirm it.

This time my aunt didn’t even raise her eyebrow at me. She didn’t seem surprised.

“Relax, Basil. We will find your bloke.”

“Simon isn’t mine anything. He undoubtedly hates me after what I said, properly this time, from the bottom of his heart.

This isn’t me trying to get him to forgive me. This is me wanting to make sure he is safe and bring him back to Watford.”

“Stop being melodramatic, Basil. He told you he loved you. What happened was a misunderstanding, a stupid one at that. Because you are stupid, despite being a Pitch. Must be Grimm blood.”

“What I did was despicable,” I’m speaking through sobs now because I’m not capable of holding the tears in any longer. 

Fiona swept her arms around me. We are at an odd angle now. I’m sobbing on her shoulder. Thank magic for Fiona. My aunt is powerful and courageous. She’ll find Simon. I just hope it will be in time.

“Your Simon will forgive you because you didn’t mean what you said. He will forgive you because he himself has been acting stupid for seven years.”

She’s letting me cry and trying to comfort me all at once.

“It’s different,” I try to protest.

“It really _isn’t_ , Baz. _Bloody numpties_ are what you two are. I’ll go grey before my time. If I look old at the wedding I will never forgive this. You don’t want me as your enemy, Basilton. I’m the young aunt, boyo, not an old maid.”

The Wedding, don't make me laugh.

I dismiss everything Fiona says. I can’t think like that. I can’t think about what happens after we find Simon. (Even though I know for a fact that Simon will _never_ forgive me.)

I can only think about finding him. There is no space for anything beyond that one thought. 

_Where are you, Simon?_

  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

# SIMON

I'm spending what remains of the night on a bench outside of the train station. I can’t sleep. Instead, I keep thinking about Baz.

The dull pain I feel is comfortable now, manageable. Why should giving up one’s soul even be considered the wrong thing to do? It feels right. I’m don’t feel as broken now as I did before.

Losing one's soul isn’t bad, truly, it gives me actual hope and solace, almost a safeguard for my heart. It’s worth to escape the pain. Why would anyone go willingly back to that misery?

The only thing that worries me is Baz. I don’t want to stop loving him. My love for him makes me feel as though there is still something good inside of me, that I’m not as faulty as I actually am.

Besides thinking about him makes me happy. Even if some of my feelings have dulled out, the ones to him haven’t. I hope I’m not going to lose Baz. What is the probability of me keeping this, keeping _him_?

I couldn’t bring myself to dislike my new development yet. Because at the same time it’s comfortable to have all my pain so dull. There is too much of it in me.

And it’s not only Baz’s rejection. He didn’t want me and why should he? I wasn’t even good for care homes. Even there people looked at me as if they were so much better than I am, as if I was nothing. Maybe I am _nothing_...

The same goes for the Mage.

He only ever spoke to me when he needed my assistance, fighting a creature or locating an important magickal artefact for the school.

The constant neglect from my legal guardian (someone who should have cared) through all the years always hit me more badly than I ever dared to admit. 

Now thinking about it, it’s quite strange, since none of those artefacts ever appeared at the library, none of us have seen them once after I delivered them to the Mage.

I start to strongly suspect that he wanted them for _himself_ , that it’s not the school that he cares about, not really.

The Mage let in everyone with magic to Watford just like he said he would, but he has abandoned the school since.

That doesn’t sound like the behaviour of a good Headmaster. 

What is so important that he can’t tear himself apart from that in order to take care of his own students?

The Mage isn’t fighting the Humdum, he does nothing in that department. And the War hasn’t started either.

What does he spend all his free time with when he’s supposed to be at work? And why is he collecting all those magickal artefacts? Is it so no one else would have them? 

Does he even care about the school? He doesn’t seem to. Perhaps he never did.

The Mage never truly cared about me either. Not that he had to. He was more than happy to take all my help but he wasn’t even willing to let me become a part of the Mage’s Men. 

_“It’s not your path, Simon. Your destiny lies elsewhere.”_

That was a nice way of saying that he doesn't want to let me have any power. The Mage wanted me separated from everyone, isolated with my alliance to him and him alone.

I was led to expect a bright future in the War.

Which only means one thing — I was just a great weapon. I’m nothing more to anyone. I’m a disgrace and disappointment to the world of Mages. I have more magic than anyone alive and don’t even know how to use it. 

But that is why it’s so important to find out who my family is or was. It may give me the necessary information about myself, my power and how to practice my magic better.

I need to learn to use my magic in the right way so that I’ll be able to divert it where it’s supposed to go. I need an upper hand against the Humdrum and finding out how to use my magic is my only chance.

Because you’re not a magician unless you can control magic unless you can speak its language. And I need to know what “language” I need to learn if there might be a difference.

There has to be something.

However, I’m getting ahead of myself.

There’s so much I need to figure out still. The right way to blend in without being detected by the Mage or the Mage’s Men, and even more important how to track down my parents. 

There is a street light nearby and I manage to do a bit of reading. The book I brought with me, the one that started this journey, is filled with many useful spells. So far blood magic has been very effective for me. I know it will work. 

Some of these spells are dark. But I have made my peace with who I am, I’m not afraid of blood magic nor dark magic, nor anything that might not be strictly _pure_.

I never pretended to be a saint before I lost my soul, and sure as hell, I am not going to start now. We all chose our poison in the end, we choose ourselves what will finally end us. This is mine.

Seems, in this case, the only fee for the spell is blood, not that I have anything else to give, I already gave my soul away. 

I really need to get myself a pocket knife, calling on the sword of Mages will get inconvenient amongst Normals.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s this easy to find my family why hasn’t anyone suggested it to me earlier? Even if it’s dark magic. 

Shouldn’t that have been my choice, my decision to make?

The Mage is powerful and he knows so much, why hasn’t he offered me the possibility to find my parents? Was he worried that my family wouldn’t approve of him turning me into a weapon?

The problem now is that I have no idea if my parents are even alive. (That also could be a reason why I ended up at a care home.)

There is a big chance that my magic doesn’t work properly because my powers are different, perhaps mixed with some other creature.

Also, it could be that I haven’t come in my powers completely yet, perhaps it’s evolving into something.

Something bad and terrifying is the safest bet. 

I can’t stop thinking about the night of the Spring Ball when I used compulsion on Baz without even planning to.

That’s how volatile what’s inside me is, the twisted and dark comes out of its own volition, without a conscious decision from me to do so.

I still have trouble understanding how I had the audacity to call Baz evil. I’m the only monster between the two of us. 

After going through the spellbook some more, I finally manage to find an interesting spell for determining whether or not one's biological Mother is alive or deceased.

There are no people around so I perform the ritual. A quick cut to my hand and draw a rune for a symbol of Family inside my wounded palm.   
  


That’s it, it’s easy, more than easy. I’m not a stranger to bleeding, after all, that’s practically all I did on my missions for the Mage, spilling my blood for the greater good.

Was it for the greater good? I wasn’t fighting the Humdrum, just collecting useless trinkets…

As it turns out my Mother is indeed not alive. And I do feel sad and disappointed which means I still feel. Though I probably would have felt more yesterday.

I don’t cry, and I’m not sure if I wish that I would or if I prefer it this way, the painless, the manageable and safe. (I might have been correct in assuming that I’m changing and fast.) 

I’m still sad. And I can also feel all alone. Because I have no one.

I never had anyone except for Penny. I decide talking to Baz might be a good idea. Not speaking to him directly, that’s not what I mean (Baz isn’t here), but to pretend that he’s here with me…

”My Mum is dead,” I tell Baz.

He doesn’t answer. (It’s because he isn’t here.)

”I wonder how long I will care for her or for you?”

 _Silence_.

”I miss you, Baz.”

I’m not going to get an answer. Baz isn’t here.

And if he were, he wouldn’t have talked to me anyway. Baz would have walked away from me as quickly and as far as possible.

A sane person, a sound person should stay away from what’s vile and corrupted.

Baz is a good person, he never hurt anyone, he never killed anyone. I have, I’ve been doing that for years, the killing of the guilty and the innocent.

Except who am I to know what’s good and bad? Who put me in charge of morals and higher ground? If anything the only thing I’m capable of is misjudging. When one is flawed, one can’t distinguish between right or wrong.

It’s all I know, it’s all I am. I’m not even sure if there has been a time when I wasn’t ready to kill. I kept telling myself it was for the greater good.

Where is that greater good now? Whose life got better? A meaningless weapon in a meaningless War was my only role. 

At least now I have a chance to make a _difference_ , to make amends. I can’t change the past, I can’t wash my sins away, but I can do this. I can do whatever it takes to win over the Humdrum.

I don’t want to have lived in vain, I don’t want to have to only leave the destruction of pure and living behind. I need to do more with my life. 

This mission is everything that matters to me, except for Baz of course. Those are my two constant, Baz and the mission.

Unfortunately, there are no spells for finding anything about my paternal side of the family. However, I find a nice piece of blood magic combined with runes to be able to locate my Mother’s grave. 

**__ **

There’s a map hanging outside. I’m still bleeding so I use that blood to draw runes combination for Mother on the map and spread blood around it.

After performing the ritual, there’s a border going around the area where my Mother’s buried. It means that I’m able to narrow the search down to somewhere between London and Oxford. 

That’s quite a lot of land to cover. I keep reading the spellbook and eventually find another ritual involving locating one's Mother remains.

I wonder why there’s so much about the maternal side of one’s family but nothing about paternal? Do Mothers mean more in the world of Mages than Fathers?

Or is it simply the blood one shares with their Mother before the birth that makes the bond strong enough to track? Perhaps it’s both…

This ritual works on a radius of 10 meters. It means that I will have to visit every cemetery of a possible location for her grave and spill my blood.

As soon as I come close to my Mother’s grave, a part of my blood will appear and shine through on her grave. 

That seems to be a bit of tedious work but it’s something manageable. It will give me answers over time.

“I will be able to find my Mother,” I say to Baz.

Still nothing.

“I wish you were here with me. I wish we could do this together, you and me. I’m not strong enough without you.”

Talking to Baz helps. Makes it almost feel as though he’s here with me, giving me his support. And right now it’s fine that he doesn’t love me.

That pain is so dull it means little in comparing with everything good that has to do with Baz. The only thing I feel is my own love to him and that I miss him. I miss Baz a lot.

That is why it’s pleasant and comfortable to pretend to talk to him for a bit.

I can’t help but think about Watford, about the inscription on the crossbar of its iron gate —MAGIC SEPARATES US FROM THE WORLD; LET NOTHING SEPARATE US FROM EACH OTHER.

It’s strange how that phrase makes me think of Baz, of how I wished we weren’t separated, how I wish we were _together_.

But I guess I wasn't capable of that, Baz and I aren’t the same, with him being good and me being what I am. His magic and my magic aren’t similar either. His is precise, flawless and pure, while mine is a nuclear bomb.

I hold the locket tight in my hand. (It reminds me of Baz and it comforts me every time I touch it.)

The magic inside the locket feels nice, it feels right, it almost makes me feel like something else than what I really am, it makes me feel _good_.

I’m well aware that I’m not. I never was. Don’t they say that in order to become great at something, you need to be born with the capacity for that one thing?

Does it mean I was born with the capacity for dark and horrible things? Was I born to become the creature nightmares are made of, someone showing up and destroying all living and healthy in one’s way?

Perhaps that isn’t the topic I should spend too much time contemplating. What’s done is done. I need to look ahead to the possibilities of this mission.

Moreover, I need to concentrate on Baz. I want to keep thinking about him. I need Baz and the love I have for him. I don’t think I can go on without it. I can’t have him here with me, but I can try and feel him through my love.

“I love you, Baz. I wish I could spend a lifetime telling you that,” I confess to him.

Oh well, I guess I tell that to myself because I’m alone, Baz isn’t here. I wish I was someone else, I wish I would have been a person worth loving, a person worth Baz’s love. 

However, life isn’t a fairytale, we get to live with ourselves, just the way we are. In real life, a pretty boy doesn’t actually fall in love with the Beast. That’s not exactly how the story goes, but that isn’t the point here. 

I tighten my grip on the locket and think about positive things. I’ve definitely made quite the progress and the new day hasn’t even started. I try to get a few hours shuteye on Baz’s cushion. I miss him.

And somehow while lying on his cushion, it almost feels as if he is here with me. I even talk to Baz and it makes a tremendous difference to my loneliness and longing for him. It always helps to talk to him. 

* * *

As the morning comes I take the first train to London. The sunny weather cheers me up a bit, the softness in the air gives me something good.

It’s easy to focus on the trees and the sun shining through them, it’s easy to forget who I am. I had to change into the nicer looking clothing that Agatha’s parents gave me for last Christmas. Everything is too big, but it’s the best I can do for now.

I enter the first bank I can find and exchange a small amount of my leprechaun gold as to not draw too much attention to myself. After that, I get myself a cup of coffee too keep up my energy level and plan a bit more. 

I need to change my clothing to something more presentable. It takes me a while but I manage to locate more of high-end stores.

Those are easy to spot, there are hardly any people inside. The shopping assistant doesn’t even bat an eye on my overall appearance.

Perhaps they are trained not to do so or they might be used to some eccentric customers, I can’t tell which it is and it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I do get all the help I need in each store I visit. 

I buy myself shoes, trousers and a shirt. I also purchase two big trolleys, one for the gold and the other for my personal belongings alongside with Baz’s cushion. I also get myself a smaller bag for papers, wallet and phone (which I still need to purchase.)

Finally looking satisfactory I enter a different bank and exchange a part of my gold. I decided to visit several banks as not to draw too much attention to myself. 

When done with that, I book myself a room at Radisson Blu that’s situated right outside one of the banks.

It seemed expensive enough for the Mage not to come looking for me there. After that, I leave to finish purchasing everything I might need.

I needed enough clothing for the mission and a few more items, for instance, — a phone, a laptop for research, more clothing, personal items and a sharp pocket knife for blood magic use. I need to get it all done today so I wouldn’t need to spend more time shopping.

Time might not be of the essence but there’s no reason not to be efficient.

On my way back to my room I meet a nice older lady from Oxford, Mrs Aldrich. She’s staying on the same floor as me.

Talking to Normals is the best way to blend in. And even though I feel less now than I did before, I do enjoy some company.

Mrs Aldrich and I look very alike. She even jokes that we could have been related. (We aren’t, I checked with a spell I had on hands.)

However, the similarity feels comforting. 

It isn’t a bad idea to stay closer to a Normal with good etiquette in order to learn the right behaviour and manage to blend in better.

I suspect I might need to talk to Normals quite a lot and I will need to be able to leave a positive impression so they will actually have a desire to be helpful. City employees aren’t famous for being easy to handle.

Nonetheless, I will need their assistance in order to track down all the cemeteries and get the records of various grave sights. 

I have been thinking that perhaps I will be able to narrow down my search by limiting it down by birth, to females of a certain age. I have no idea when exactly my Mother was born or died or how old she was when she gave birth to me.

However, she was alive while I was born, so at the very least she was alive until June 23, 1999.

Mrs Aldrich and I end up eating dinner together and she invites me to accompany her to the orchestra. (She’s a widow and has no family since her only son, Charlie, died in an accident years ago.)

“That is very kind of you. I do have to admit that I’ve never been,” I say.

“Don’t worry dear. The youngsters aren’t as interested in classical music as we used to at your age. You just clap when I do, and you’ll be fine.” She is truly a very kind lady.

Eventually, I agree and thank magic for that. When Mrs Aldrich shows me the program, I feel happiness and longing. There’s going to be several violin segments.

We’re sitting behind opera glass and I don’t have to bother with other people. We can enjoy a bit of privacy. It hasn’t gone long since the day I bargained away my soul, but I already have trouble with people, they are everywhere, a constant reminder of something I’m not. 

“A friend of mine, _Baz_ , plays the violin. He’s very good and talented. I always enjoyed listening to him play.” I tell her. I don’t know what to call Baz, so I settle on a _friend_. He is so much more to me, while I am absolutely nothing to him. You could say that by adding those two together, — a friend is what comes out of it. (The math might be questionable in this case.)

“The violin? That is impressive for a young man,” Mrs Aldrich comments.

“Impressive would be an understatement, Mrs Aldrich. Baz is brilliant at anything he puts his mind to. He speaks four languages. And Baz was best in our year,” I can’t help but brag.

I don’t tell her that Baz is absolutely perfect and beautiful. That might be overstepping with this new friendship Mrs Aldrich and I started.

Mrs Aldrich smiles at that, “You must care much for the boy to talk about his accomplishments with so much pride.” I think about that, about me caring...

”Baz was a great friend,” I answer and feel a pang in my chest.

I do care, not sure for how long, I strongly suspect that I won’t be able to keep him, that all the spells I cast were in vain. Baz is my past, while my future is hollow.

Mrs Aldrich seems to notice the sudden change in me. She steers the conversation in a different direction.

The concert is wonderful. I recognize some of the pieces playing from times I listened outside the window when Baz was playing the violin.

It takes my breath away. (I do cry then. I think it’s a good sign. It means I’m still capable of feeling...)

Mrs Aldrich notices and holds my hand the rest of the performance. (It means something to me, and that’s also a good sign.)

* * *

I spend the rest of the week visiting different offices and trying to get more information about death records. There isn’t anyone with last name Snow that died in the last eighteen years. (There isn’t anyone alive either.)

I don’t know when my Mother would have died exactly and because of that, the range of possibilities is unfortunately very wide. It seems I might need to visit many cemeteries in order to track down my Mum’s grave.

I keep talking to Baz and he’s answering me now. Well not him precisely, but my subconscious pretending to be Baz. It does feel as him though. Baz helps me a lot in my research.

I wouldn’t have wanted Penny with me for this. I love her but she’s very set in her own ways. Penny thinks that my parents are Normals.

And I’m not sure anything I tell her could change her mind. This isn’t the kind of adventure I would want Penny on.

Penny isn’t very patient either. But this isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon. This will need to take some time and follow the right course.

Baz on the other hand. Well, Baz is only in my head. Which means that he agrees with me for the most part and doesn’t make a fuss and follows my lead. His cushion still smells like him and I strongly suspect it's my imagination that makes it that way. 

I don’t remember when Baz started talking back to me exactly and what it all means. Do I always know that he’s not real or am I slowly going insane? Does it even matter? I doubt I have long left.

As soon as I find out where I came from and get the necessary advantage against the Humdrum, I’ll try to take it on and die in the process (hopefully not before defeating the Humdrum.) 

That’s my mission, my destiny. No other details matter anymore, for example, whether or not I’m in my right mind. It’s all the same to me now. And I’m grateful for Baz, real or not. He’s here with me, faithful support and help…

A constant reminder that there’s something good in the world. After all, he’s the one I’m doing this for. So that he and others in the world of Mages can live their lives surrounded by magic without the constant threat of the _magickal nothingness_ hanging over them. 

During the week Mrs Aldrich and I bonded quite much.

She came to London for two weeks to visit museums and orchestra.

She didn’t want to have to make the long drive home every night and perhaps she was feeling a bit lonely in her empty house. (It seems I am still able to understand human emotions.)

I have accompanied Mrs Aldrich to a few museums after making the necessary visits to various courthouses and other clerk public offices.

I told Mrs Aldrich that I was looking for my birth parents. I think with her losing her son and me losing my Mum, we connected on a different level as well, we connected through _grief_.

I don’t feel as though I lost Baz anymore, since he’s so often with me, talking to me.

When it's time for Mrs Aldrich to return back to Oxford, she offers me to stay with her even though we only knew each other for a very short time.

“My nephew and his wife lived with me while he attended University. They graduated last year and moved to France. It has been so lonely since.”

“What do you think, Baz?” I ask in my head and I know that he’s not real, but his insights still help a lot. Makes me feel closer to him.

“I think it’s a grand idea. You should do it, Simon,” Baz says. At least Baz in my head calls me by my first name. 

I know that Baz answering is a bit weird, I don’t know how that works exactly.

It’s my subconscious that is doing that, obviously, but his voice is very realistic and it makes a difference — keeps me grounded to life, keeps me _sane_. (Even though I strongly suspect that talking to Baz makes me anything but.)

“I think so too,” I answer him and make my decision.

“Are you quite sure, Mrs Aldrich, you hardly know me?”

“Nonsense. I’m a good judge of character. Besides, you remind me too much of my Charlie not to invite you,” she answers vehemently. 

“In that case, how could I decline your generous offer, Mrs Aldrich?”

Nobody is going to look for me in Oxford and there’s absolutely no reason to turn down a pleasant company.

* * *

I bring the cushion with me to Oxford and place it amongst the others on my bed.

The room Mrs' Aldrich nephew and his wife used, the one that I use now is big, and so is the bed.

Sometimes I like that, the possibility to spread all the papers from the research about possible whereabouts of my mother around and still have space for myself. Other times it makes me feel all alone.

Lately, I'm less worried about that. My soul is disappearing, I know that and I feel that.

But I think a more meaningful interaction with someone as kind and good-hearted as Mrs Aldrich will do me good. 

I know that Baz is only in my head, but at times he seems so real. As if I’m actually having a conversation with him as if he’s really here with me. 

”All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” I say without magic. It’s a spell to unveil the truth and prevent magic from compromising one’s mind. I don’t dare to cast it, I’m afraid it will make Baz leave me. I’m not foolish enough to believe that he’s permanent in my head.

Something left him as an imprint on my mind or perhaps my heart. I remember casting spells both before and after the ritual that claimed my soul.

I don't know why I can hear Baz this clearly, why he’s here talking to me. 

What I do know is that I would never try to jeopardize what we have. The phrase spoken without magic is just a little reminder to me of what’s real, just in case.

I try to jog my memory from time to time and tell myself that Baz isn’t here. There are days I forget. There are days I’m convinced Baz in my head is _real_. 

However, there are also days I don’t recall Baz to ever exist outside of my mind, I don’t remember him back at Watford, I don’t remember Watford. There are days I don’t remember much.

My life is slipping away, one memory at a time. I forget places and faces, I forget feelings. I never forget what I’m fighting for, but sometimes I’m not sure why, except for Baz.

I still remember him, I still perceive the Humdrum as a threat and I know my mission of finding my biological Mother in order to defeat the Humdrum, to protect Baz. 

Sometimes I’m just not sure what kind of threat the Humdrum bares towards Baz. Sometimes I just know what I have to do, but can’t put a name to it, as to why exactly I need to do it.

It seems that might be the only thing that really mattered to me when I used the anti-tracking spell and gave up my soul, to defend Baz against the Humdrum. (I remember doing that, casting that spell, not in detail, but I’m certain of doing it nonetheless.)

The mission is to do whatever it takes to get an upper hand on the Humdrum, which means finding out where I came from.

The rest starts to make less sense and feel less important. I’m not feeling as much as I previously did. 

I start to struggle to understand that — feelings. Not all of them. Baz is very important still. He means everything to me. (I can’t help but worry whether or not it’ll last.) I hope he stays here with me forever. (Even if it is only in my head.)

I haven’t had any success with locating my Mum’s grave but I have found enough information to narrow down the search. That’s good progress.

Mrs Aldrich offers me to use her late husband’s Jaguar. (It looks just like the car that Baz’s Father picked him up in from Watford.

Which means it reminds me of Baz, I love that car already.) She gives me the key and as I enter the garage, I almost get my breath away when I first see the car. Baz is with me as luck has it and I can share this experience with him.

I think he’ll understand my happiness. (Baz understands me better than I do myself sometimes.)

“It’s just like the one your father has,” I exclaim.

“Yes,” Baz nods his head. ” Do you like it?” He doesn’t have to ask.

“I love it,” I tell Baz. ”It’s another piece of you that I will have here with me.”

“I’m glad, Simon.” Baz is always glad for good things that happen to me. It’s because he _cares_.

Driving a car is much faster and easier than to have to call for a cab every time I need to go somewhere. It would save me a lot of time.

However, I don’t actually know how to drive.

Fortunately, having both time and means, I can change that. I found an intensive driving school course in Oxford and to get my drivers license in less than twenty days. 

Meanwhile, I’m planning on continuing the hunt for my Mother’s grave. I simply have to take a cab to wherever it is I need to go. 

And of course, I had to encounter a Goblin, imitating a cabbie on one of the first trips. Thank magic, Baz notices the goblin.

After chopping off his head and dismantling the goblin’s body, I start to get worried. Fighting goblins can get messy and loud and could draw attention to me.

I can’t risk the Mage or one of the Mage’s Men to spot me. I can't go back, I have a mission.

Baz gets very worried first, “You can’t let them catch you, Simon. It’s not safe.”

“What should I do then?” Baz is the smartest person I know, I always ask him for advice.

“It would be more prudent to wait until you get your driving license. You are in no hurry, you have time,” Baz says and of course he’s right. He’s _always_ right.

“That is probably for the best. Thank you, Baz. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” I’m still panicking and sure am glad that he’s here to guide me through it all.

“I’m always here with you,” He says as if it is a given.

“Sometimes you leave,” I might be pouting because I don’t like it when he leaves. It makes me feel empty and alone.

“I always come back,” Baz answers and he’s right of course, he always comes back to me. Baz would never leave me.

I take this opportunity to spend more time with Mrs Aldrich, to stay closer to my humanity.

I like living with her. We take long walks around the forest and talk a lot. I find it’s good that I talk to “real” people so I don’t get too much out of touch and lost in my own head. 

Mrs Aldrich insists looking your best at all times.

By that, she doesn’t mean wearing something expensive but spending time on your personal hygiene and grooming, not using rumbled clothes and stick to proper etiquette.

“We need to treat others with respect and one way to do it is to put your best self out into the world,” Mrs Aldrich says.

“That’s quite interesting. I never thought of it this way,” I admit because I might have been of the opinion that looking your best was supposed to put other people down. I never thought that it could also make yourself and others happy.

“It’s because you’re still young, Simon. When you’ll get to my age you start seeing things from a different perspective.”

“That could very much be true,” I say even though I know I will never get to be Mrs Aldrich age. I don’t tell her that. That’d be considered terribly bad mannered, I’m sure.

“The world can be a cruel and ugly place. It’s humble to try and bring some beauty to this world. And when you make an effort you also show other people that they are important enough for you to bother. That they are worth more to you than just rolling out of bed and walking outside.”

Mrs Aldrich also likes to put some effort for her own sake as well.

We dress up for dinner on the weekends and the cook makes us something special. I never would have thought that it’d be worth anything to me. But a nice meal and a pleasant conversation do put me in a good mood.

Mrs Aldrich is right. A little beauty can brighten one’s day, give a little positive change on the nothingness surrounding one’s existence.

I’m trying to hold on to my humanity. But it hasn’t been easy. Mrs Aldrich and Baz are helping me a lot with that.

When I realize that it's almost Mrs' Aldrich birthday soon I leave to get her a birthday gift. I’m lucky enough to spot a beautiful old fashion crystal vase that I think she might like but I also want to get her a scented candle. She likes those a lot. 

I’ve noticed that I really like to look on fire too. I’m not sure what makes fire this special and exciting. There’s something tangible but yet real… I just don’t know what.

However, I do know that it matters to me and I’m going to indulge myself with the preferences I have even though there’s no logical explanation to them.

I’ve also noticed that there are various characteristics concerning me that have no logical reason. I’m growing anxious about that.

”What does it all mean, Baz?” Even though he’s only in my head, I can still see him with my own eyes if I tilt my head just right. It’s a bit like static white noise, you get a glimpse once in a while.

This time Baz looks back at me, ”Does it have to mean anything? It’s alright if it doesn’t.”

”Are you sure?” 

”Yes. There's nothing to worry about. The world is filled with unexplainable things. We can’t possibly understand everything that surrounds us,” he says and his voice is calm and sure. 

If Baz says I shouldn’t worry about it than I don’t. He always knows best. Baz is very smart. 

My infatuation with fire is the reason why I decided to get myself a candle as well. 

There are so many to choose from, I know Mrs. Aldrich likes the scent of lavender and that’s what I’m getting for her. It’s more difficult to choose one for myself. There are so many options. One fragrance, in particular, catches my attention. The label says the scent is of cedar and bergamot. 

There is something about it, something _familiar_ , something like home.

Which is odd since the closest thing I have to home is Mrs Aldrich house and there isn't anything with this particular fragrance. But I’m not going to second guess it, I get that one candle for myself. 

* * *

Since I got my driver licenses I have been visiting many cemeteries in search for my Mother. 

“I haven’t had any luck yet, Baz,” I complain.

I think I’m the only one who can see Baz so I don’t tell Miss Aldrich about me and Baz talking.

“But now you can remove certain areas from your search. It only means that there are fewer possible locations now. Easier to narrow it down.” Baz is never cross with me for complaining this much.

“You are right about that,” I admit. 

“I know. You are a bit of a pessimist, Simon,” Baz states.

“Probably. But you always know what to say to get me in a better mood.”

“That’s because I know you so well.” And he does.

“You know me better than anyone else.”

“Well, that is hardly a big accomplishment. It’s either me or Mrs Aldrich. You don’t know anyone else.”

“True. Then you know me better than Mrs Aldrich does.” I say smiling to myself. Baz keeps me on my toes.

The sun is out today, shining through the sky and all the leaves had changed colour to bright red, yellow and orange, and yet everything seems so gloomy and dull, almost lifeless. (Or maybe that’s just _me_.)

I’m still here, but just a little less for every day that passes. Baz has been leaving more often than not. I don’t like that at all.

“Why do you have to leave?” I press because I need to know.

Baz always looks composed, I’ve been trying to as well, I’ve been trying to have him as an example of what’s right and wrong. Baz is my moral compass. “I don’t know, Simon. I just do.”

“I wish you never had to,” I say because it’s never the same when he leaves.

“I wish that too.”

“Perhaps one day you can stay with me all the time.”

“I hope so too,” he says and I know he means it. I trust Baz with my life.

Baz has been helping me a lot. I think he’s my imaginary friend that I might be in love with. I’m a bit hazy on the memories and details. But I know he means a lot to me even if I don’t understand half of it. 

Am I in love with Baz or do I only think that I am? What is love exactly and what is the right way to feel toward an imaginary friend?

I think there has been a reason as to why things are this way but I forgot what it was... I have been forgetting a lot lately. I still _care_ though.

Sometimes I forget that he’s only in my head. Sometimes I think I’m actually talking to Baz, that he’s standing right next to me.

Sometimes I turn my head to him and can see him. I know what he looks like, which sounds bad since he’s only in my head, he’s not a real person, he doesn't exist.

Still, it brings me peace to look at Baz, or perhaps I should call it to _pretend_ to look at him. Most days it’s a bit blurry, I see his face, and the silhouette clearly enough, but not much more.

Sometimes I see everything _clearly_. Baz is wearing a green blazer with white piping, a red jumper under and dark grey trousers. He’s always carrying books with him. Does he go to school? I can’t recall.

All those colours in his clothing, they almost seem as if they are supposed to mean _something_ , to reveal something. 

Mostly it’s too bothersome, I prefer to just look at his face and enjoy that, his features, his eyes. His eyes are dark grey at times, and sometimes a bit lighter. 

I think it depends on his mood. I don’t ask him about that. It seems rude to ask your imaginary friend you’re in love with, to explain himself and what he’s feeling towards you. Instead, I just indulge myself in looking at him.

Baz doesn’t seem to mind that. He never smiles, even when he tells me good things, happy things, he never does. He never looks angry or sad either, his features are always thoughtful, nothing else.

But there are times when Baz would close his eyes for just a second, and I see a ghost of a smile. It’s as if he needs to have his eyes shut for him to smile.

I don’t know why, and I don’t ask him either. It seems too private, and it would be wrong to pry. But I like seeing him like that, though I wish his smile was a real one. I wish Baz would smile all the time. 

* * *

When I see someone dressed as a vampire for Halloween one day, something stirs _inside_ me. (There aren’t many that dress up in England, but some do.) 

My heart is pounding but I can’t explain it. I’m not afraid, of that I’m sure. But I’m feeling _something_. 

“What do you think it means, Baz?”

“Perhaps it means nothing or perhaps you met someone who was a vampire before,” Baz answers.

I’m still confused, “I guess it could be. I don’t remember meeting anyone.”

“It could also be a movie you watched and it left an impression,” Baz says and it makes sense.

“That does sound reasonable,” I reply and it’s better now.

* * *

The next day I visited a large cemetery outside of London with an old church. I hoped my Mother would be there. She wasn’t. After I spent two hours searching for her grave, I stopped inside the church to clear my mind. 

It was a very old church and everything about it spoke history. And I thought it would help, I was planning on coming. I thought by being there something might spark inside my mind. I might _feel_ something or realize something. 

A centuries old church seems like an anchor, for culture and past.

Several generations of people have passed this building and sat on these benches. Someone build this and someone painted these murals.

And despite all that I feel emptiness when I look at it all. It means nothing. This isn’t my past even though logically I understand that it is. 

I seem to be frozen in time, in place. This immobility is unnerving.

“Perhaps you weren’t Christian? Perhaps that is the reason?” Baz suggests.

I can’t agree with him this time, “It wouldn’t have mattered. I’m human, at least partially which makes this church my cultural heritage as much as everyone else’s.”

“You might be right about that.” Baz is never afraid to admit he is wrong despite him being right most of the times.

“But then why can’t I make myself care? Why can’t I see the beauty of this place?” I’m having troubles with this subject. It’s unravelling me, makes me doubt myself.

“Could it be the church isn’t beautiful at all?” Baz states because it’s not entirely a question.

“I have to disagree with you on that, Baz. On an intellectual level, I understand that this is a beautiful architecture creation and the interior is modest yet somehow majestic. I understand it, but I don’t feel it.”

“What _do_ you feel?”

“I feel as though the walls might as well be the same colour and shape, or no colour and no shape. They might not even be here at all. It won’t make any difference in how I perceive this place.”

Baz looks thoughtful and asks, “Would you care if I were gone?”

“Of course, I would. You know that.”

“Why?”

“Because I need you. I think I love you.”

“I don’t know much about love.”

“No, me neither. We are similar in that, aren’t we?”

Baz nods,“We sure are. We are very alike. Besides, we understand and know each other perfectly. Maybe that’s what love is?”

“That could be it.”

This church is still standing here, through everything.

It all meant something to someone. It should mean something to me. Is there even any future without a past? How would one know? Is the time standing still when every day starts with an emptiness? Will I be here for long? 

I was hoping to get some answers but Baz isn’t here anymore. He keeps disappearing, going somewhere. But he always comes back. And that’s what’s important.

Baz’s opinions on the church are interesting but I still wish I’d get some solace from the church and God. I’ve been sitting here for hours thinking, trying to remember whatever it is I seemed to have forgotten.

The air of dreary autumn is hanging heavy on me, the sky is dark. All these graves around have been taunting me all day. Somewhere along with those tombstones, here or somewhere else, lies my Mother.

My whole reason for existing depends on finding her, on coming into whatever power I have and finishing the Humdrum off to protect Baz. Yet after almost two months, I’m not any closer to the truth. 

I’m losing myself with every day that passes. Will there be anything left of me before this mission is accomplished? Will I lose the battle because there isn’t enough time to start it?

There’s a bit of cold and wind in the air but it’s not what chills my body to the bone. It’s the uncertainty of who I was and who I am. There is too much I don’t remember anymore. 

My mind is filled with fog, it seems hazy and unpredictable. 

What did my life look like before? Who was I? Did anyone care about me? Did I care about anyone except for Baz? Why is the Humdrum a threat to my imaginary friend? What am I missing?

I think I might be trying to hold on to _something_ but I’m not sure what it is. 

“Do you know what it can be, Baz?” He’s back for now.

Baz doesn’t seem bothered by this, “No. I’m not sure if there is anything.”

“You might be right. Perhaps it’s the wait that is getting to me, makes me see something that isn’t there.”

“That could be it,” he answers and sounds almost cheerful. Or is it what I want him to be?

“I worry that something bad is about to happen. And I don’t know what that is,” I tell him with a sigh.

“Don’t worry, Simon. I’m right here with you. I won’t let anything bad to happen to you,” Baz comforts and I feel better already.

“I know. I would never survive without you.”

I found an old golden cross in one of my trolleys. I don’t remember having it. I don’t know why but looking at it makes my stomach turn.

I’m not sure what it means or why I brought the cross with me here. I thought that perhaps being in this beautiful old church will trigger something or change my feelings about the cross. (It hasn’t.)

I asked Baz about it. He usually has something useful to say when I struggle with a particular riddle.

“Do you think it means something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I had it in my possessions,” I say.

“You did?” Baz seems surprised by that. I am too. 

“Yes. Why do you think I have it?”

Baz thinks for a bit before answering, “I don’t know. Perhaps someone has given it to you and you forgot. Or you picked it up from the side of the road. The possibilities are endless…”

I don’t even remember why I have this cross in the first place. Where did it come from? Did I buy it or did someone give it to me? 

There is something there, something unsettling and unnerving. Or maybe it’s just this church and me in it. Can’t be anything important though.

I cut myself on some shattered glass earlier, I didn’t feel it. I wonder if this might be due to me cutting myself repeatedly while using blood magic or is it simply because I am not capable of feeling pain anymore. 

I use the cross to tear up some skin and keep digging deeper and deeper, letting the blood drip on the floor. The blood pool is getting larger but I still feel nothing. _Nothing…_

Perhaps pain isn’t important. I still remember what’s important. I still remember Baz. He’s here with me.

I set the cross on a bench away from me and take hold of my locket. (I know it’s mine because it’s been around my neck for as long as I can remember. Baz always talks to me more when I hold it.)

“God is the last force that would help me,” I tell him.

“What do you mean by that, Simon?”

“If there is a God, I wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I think I’m starting to lose myself, slipping away bit by bit.”

Baz gets softer around his eyes, his features are still perfectly composed, “You have me. I will never slip away, I will never leave you.”

“You do leave,” I argue because I seem to be having a difficult time today.

“But not permanently. I will always come back to you, Simon.” He closes his eyes for a split second and I see Baz’s smile, the one that is almost there, it became my hope for _something_.

“I know. I trust you, I always will,” I say and try to smile myself.

“You should. I’m not capable of lying.”

“Sometimes I wish I remembered love more. Then I could give more love to you,” I tell him because it’s true. I have been thinking more and more about that later.

It seems as if God can’t hear me, or he might not be there, to begin with.

I leave the cross on one of the benches and my heart beats easier at that. I don’t know what that cross meant, but it wasn’t anything good, of that I’m sure. 

I feel lighter without it.

My locket is what keeps me safe and sane. If I’m sane.

That might be debatable… But it also brings Baz back to me. I’m going to be grateful to this locket for as long as I shall live, however short that might be.

_I need Baz. I hope I will always need him._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be on the safe side this time, the next update will probably happen within a month.


	6. Chapter 6

# BAZ

I wasn’t sure what to do. I spent nearly two months tracking Simon with Fiona.

We picked up a trail almost immediately, using his blood from the handkerchief that Bunce gave me. I couldn’t believe our luck. I sent Bunce a message right away.

 **Me (16:03):** Bunce. We’ve caught a trail. Simon’s blood helped. Let you know as soon as we find him.

 **Bunce (17:04):** Merry Morgana. Thank magic. I’m waiting for your next message.

 **Me (05:12):** We’ve lost the trail, Bunce. However, we managed to pick up a new one a few hours later. It might be that we just missed him, nothing to worry about.

 **Bunce (07:09):** Good luck!

We followed the new trail. Fiona stopped by the butchers and purchased some pig's blood for me. 

”Drink, Basil.” 

”I’m not thirsty, ” I admitted.

”You don’t want to drain your bloke when we find him do you?” She said and raised one brow at me.

”Fine. Give it to me.” I took the jar from Fiona and emptied it cold in one go. 

”That’s how you drink blood?”

”I don’t have time for finesse, Fiona. Just drive.”

**Me (23:19):** Bunce, we haven’t found him. Simon must have been on the move a lot in the last two days. It’s only a matter of time before we catch up with him. I will keep you informed.

 **Me (23:21):** Good Night, Penny. Don’t worry.

 **Bunce (06:33):** Good Morning, Basil. That’s good. 

**Bunce (06:33):** Simon is fast. It makes sense he managed to outrun you for now since he had a head start. 

**Bunce (06:34):** I hope you’ll get to him tomorrow. 

**Me (06:36):** Good Morning. No news as of yet. Fiona was driving all night, the trail kept disappearing and reappearing again. I’m not sure how he can move this quickly. 

We were still hopeful at that point, convinced that having Simon's blood would help us to find him fast. 

The high spirits were _not_ long-lived.

We kept following the trail but each time it was a dead end. Almost as we were going in circles. We canvassed most of London and the countryside. Not that we thought he would be there, but the trail kept taking us in every direction.

Fiona was dressing me in the most ridiculous clothing — washed out jeans, old band t-shirts, leather jackets. My hair was getting longer. That’s the only part I didn’t mind. Not that I truly cared how I looked.

However, I needed something to destruct me from what both I and Fiona feared — that the longer time passes, the bigger danger Simon might be in.

What if someone else would find him instead of us?

“That’s called blending in, Basil,” Fiona told me.

“Where exactly am I to blend in? At a Deep Purple festival for forty-something pretending to be twenty five?”

“No one pays attention to music types. People won’t remember us.”

I wasn’t sure if that was true but I knew better than to argue with my aunt. Fiona has more experience with this kind of thing than me after all.

”Is that why you dress like that?” I asked her, pointing at her Doc Martens and her whole disaster of an outfit.

”Usually not,” she said and smirked.

# PENELOPE

I knew someone would interrogate me sooner or later. I should have realized that the Mage would send my brother.

I’m sure he assumed I’ll be spilling the beans because he’s blood. Simon is more of a brother to me than Premal ever was.

”Where did he go?” He said and didn’t even try to appear polite, the arrogant tosser. There’s a reason Mum calls him Rolf from The Sound of Music. 

The Mage’s men always act if they own the whole world. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d want us to start bowing our heads to them like the simple villagers in front of bourgeoisie. 

That’s what they’ve become — the oppressive ruling class that takes what it wants from whom in wants with no regards for law because they think they _are_ the law. The World of Mages is in dire need of true reforms...

”I have no idea where Simon is,” I told him and it was truth. (Not that I would have told Premal anything even if I knew.)

”What do you mean you have no idea where he is? You two are thick as thieves, ” he was raising his voice, trying to intimidate me. I was having none of it.

”Simon deserves to live his life how he sees fit, without being forced to be a soldier in a ridiculous war, Premal,” I raised my voice right back at him. Two can play at that game.

”It isn’t a choice, everyone has to fight. We’re _all_ soldiers,” he was quoting the Mage. My brother is always quoting the Mage. 

I quote my mum because I’m not a brainwashed idiot.

”Simon isn’t from our world — he doesn’t have to fight,” I finally said. 

I don’t actually believe that myself. We might not know where Simon comes from, but he _has_ magic in him, more than anyone else ever had. He belongs with us.

”You’re not telling me something, Penelope. I know it.” I saw him reaching for his wand. 

There’s a spell for forcing honesty — The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

I wondered if he’d do it — use a restricted spell on me to get me to tell him everything he wants. 

”Perhaps you can leave a petition with the Coven to interrogate me _officially_. I’m sure Mum will be glad to help you with all the necessary paperwork.” 

My brother glared at me after I mentioned mum. He mumbled something about ”uncooperative” and left.

Premal knows our mother would never allow anyone to use a restricted spell on me without me being accused of a crime first, in front of the Coven — _not_ the Mage’s men. (I think the Coven still has some power, at least I don’t think the Mage would go openly against.)

I haven’t committed any crimes. But I suspect that there's something I don't know. Basil and I got close, very close — we’re friends now. 

Despite being my friend, he keeps avoiding the subject of what exactly happened to Simon except for what _I_ already told _him_. He must know more but he’s being offly quiet about it.

 **Me (19:35):** I was thinking of going home over the weekend and helping with research. 

**Basil (19:43):** That won’t be necessary, my aunt and I got it covered.

 **Me (19:44):** I still think if I go home I could be useful.

 **Basil (19:44):** Penelope, don’t go home!

Basil never called me by my full first name before. I instantly knew something wasn’t right.

 **Me (19:45):** What exactly did your aunt tell you?

 **Basil (20:58):** Don’t worry about it, Bunce. 

Whatever this was about, Basil was clearly trying to protect me from the truth. 

I’m not sure I like being out of the loop but I decided to accept it for now. He must have a good reason to keep if from me. 

I stopped pressing him on the matter a while back.

After these nerve wracking weeks I trust Basil with anything. After all I did trust him with Simon — one of the most important people in my life. 

I hope that against all odds Basil will find Simon.

# BAZ

Over the course of several weeks Penelope Bunce and I got close through the texts to the point where I refer to her as a friend now. 

I was debating if I should mention to Bunce that she’ll be tried as accomplice if the truth about Simon would ever come out.

According to Fiona simply having known what Simon did and without reporting it to the Coven is punishable by mage law. 

However, I decided against it and went for plausible deniability for Bunce. She has no knowledge of it being considered breaking the mage law. I hope it will save her life.

What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her should she be tried for treason. Hopefully that would be enough and her mother can keep her safe if the worst was to happen.

I feel bitter guilt cooling deep in my belly for befriending Simon’s best friend while he has no one, while he’s all alone… Some days I feel more of a monster than ever before. I’m dead with a soul — what a joke. While Simon is so alive and is the epiphany of sun without a soul… 

It’s not fair — none of this _is_ fair.

Yes, I know that I’m making this about me while I need to concentrate on Simon.

Unfortunately, I’m capable of multitasking. And with aimless driving we’re been doing there it’s too much time to _think_.

My appetite came partially back over the summer break. It’s gone again. I can’t eat, nor am I very keen on blood either. However, I do drink blood, I know I have to in order to stay sane, or sane enough with everything that’s happening…

Fiona has been buying supplies at the butchers. Mostly pig’s blood — it is less disgusting than rats.

I’ve been chugging it down cold, can’t risk the smell of it getting someone’s attention. (We’re trying to stay inconspicuous.)

My aunt keeps showing food to me.

“You need to keep your strengths up, boyo. You’re no help to him like _this_ ,” my aunt keeps reminding me.

“How am I being of help to him at all?” I wonder. 

We still haven’t found him, even after all this time. Fiona is relentless, she spares no magic and neither do I. But it’s not enough. 

I’m worried the worst has already happened.

”We don’t even know if he’s still alive,” I tell her one evening while we’re driving around following the next trails that I’m fairly sure leads nowhere.

“There wouldn’t be any trail if he was gone, Basil,” she tries to reassure me.

There’s something wrong with the trail. We both know it. Fiona just doesn’t say it out loud. 

This seems a cliché if anything but I feel like a shell of my former self, I feel _emptiness_ inside of my heart and it only grows stronger.

It feels very real and that scares me. I keep worrying that Simon is dead while trying to convince myself that he isn’t...

There isn’t much fight left in me either. I can’t sleep or eat. All I can do is think about how if Simon is still alive — he’s out there somewhere all alone and _unloved_. 

I love him, but it’s not enough, not when he doesn’t know, not when I can’t find him and heal him from whatever happened to him. 

How does one bring a soul back? I’m not even sure I understand the concept of a soul. I’ve spend years convinced I don’t have one. 

”You let your imagination about not having a soul run wild, Basil. It’s time for some hard truth. You have one, while your bloke is losing his,” Fiona told me one night when neither one of us was sleeping.

”I still don’t understand why the Coven would want to kill him, Fiona. Surely the spell he cast won’t turn him into an actual monster, someone dangerous. Simon is the kindest person, he’s good.”

”He won’t be for long. No one really knows what exactly will become of him but it’s nothing good and the Coven won’t risk keeping him alive. I’m sorry, Basil. I’m not the one making up these rules. That’s how it works.”

”We will find him before that. I know we will,” I did not in fact know that. I was just holding on to any hope there was...

I’ve been skimming through all the books while Fiona drives, to see what can be done about Simon’s condition. I haven’t found anything too useful yet. 

After three month of ideal search, my aunt is apparently trying to prepare me for the harsh reality. ”We won’t know who he’ll be when we find him, Basil. How much there’ll be left of him, if anything...”

”I understand,” I say even though I probably don’t. Not that it matters, whoever or _whatever_ Simon turns into, I’ll still love him all the same. I will never abandon him again.

Despite not bringing up the fact that we still haven’t found Simon, Fiona is worried. I can see it in her demeanour, even if she’s trying to hide it.

Evidently, I think that’s why Fiona wants to check with her underground sources. She refuses to let me come along though.

“Those are not the kind of people you want to be introduced to, Basil,” she states as if I would care about that.

Fiona must see that on my face because she added. “Trust me on this. It’ll go smoother if it’s just me. Less suspicious. I’m always there, asking questions about one thing or another and listening to gossips. No one will bat an eye at that.”

”I’m your nephew, it’s not that strange that I’d come with,” I try to argue although I think she must be right. I just feel useless...

”Yes, but if I come with you, people might start talking about that and wondering. Perhaps connecting the dots and figuring out that the Chosen One has disappeared and is loose somewhere,” she has a good point of course.

”I can hide, stay in the shadows while you talk to people. I can hear their heartbeat, Fiona. I will know if someone is lying to you.”

My aunt gives me a look.” I don’t need to hear anyone’s heartbeat to know if they are lying to me, boyo.”

Fiona must see that I’m about to argue, so she adds, ”It’s too risky to bring you, Basil. We don’t need questions and conspiracy theories directed on us. What if someone figures out that Simon Snow is missing his soul. The word could get to anyone who wants him _harm_. You want to protect your bloke, don’t you?”

Those are the magical words (no pun intended.) I stay at Fiona’s flat while she goes to investigate.

# FIONA

Your son is withering away, Tasha. Basil is too thin, too pale, too heartbroken. 

He looks like a vampire from all those old movies — grey and hollow.

I’m trying to find his Chosen One. But there’s only so much magic I’ve got. I’m not powerful enough, not clever enough. I’m not you, Tasha...

Not sure there’s even anything to gain from asking questions around. But it couldn’t hurt. And we’ve got no other choice. Time is ticking. I don’t think we’ll find a _real_ person when ( _if_ ) we locate Simon Snow.

It’s been too long. Only a miracle could help us now. Those aren’t the things Pitches were blessed with are they? 

I’m at my wits end with this. You’d know what to do if you were here, _sister_ …

# BAZ

I couldn’t stay still. There’s nothing I could do by myself. My tracking abilities aren’t as good as Fiona’s. I have to get out of the flat. I end up taking a walk. 

I texted Penelope again. She’s usually responsive before lunch.

I’ve been checking in on her a few times a day. Penelope is taking everything hard. I think she’s suffering more because she’s back at school and not on the search with us. 

But we can’t afford bringing too much attention to her or to Simon. Bunce’s mum is on the Coven. All of us need to be careful about what we do and say.

 **Me (11:02):** No updates yet. Just checking in. How are you holding up?

 **Bunce (11:03):** I’m fine, Basil. How are you? 

**Me (11:04):** I’m fine, thank you for asking.

 **Bunce (11:06):** Are you eating?

 **Me (11:10):** Stop talking to my aunt, Bunce! 

**Bunce (11:11):** I’m worried about you.

 **Me (11:12):** Don’t be. We’ll find Simon and everything will be back to normal.

I don’t believe that myself, of course. Nothing will ever go back to normal. We don’t even know if we _can_ find him or how to heal him if we do. 

**Bunce (11:13):** Yes, you’re right. I need to go, Basil. I’ll write to you tonight. Stay safe. 💖 

**Me (11:13):** Until then. ❤️

After walking aimlessly for a few hours I spot a coffee shop and go in to get myself a cup of pumpkin mocha breve. (It’s my own creation. It reminds me of Simon. Golden, sweet and completely addictive.)

There are quite a few scenarios I would have envisioned for my reunion with Simon Snow.

The most predictable would have been Simon filled with anger and rage, punching me and showing his sword through my heart. I did break his heart after all. I wouldn’t have blamed him for that.

I even could have imagined his blanked faced pretending I mean nothing to him.

Even though I’m fairly sure showing a sword through my heart would have been more realistic when it comes to Simon.

He isn't good at pretending at the best of times, doubt he would have been good at it while heartbroken.

The least likely scenario would have been Simon turning around and walking away from me with tears in his eyes, not saying a word.

None of that happened.

As I’m exiting the coffee shop, I’m checking my phone to see if Fiona had any progress with her contacts. I’m not exactly paying attention to my surroundings and barely escape from spilling my hot coffee on someone.

I feel the faint smell of smoke and as I turn around I see blue eyes and bronze curls.

“ _Simon_ ,” I almost choke out because I can’t believe it really is him.

“Baz,” Simon exclaims with surprise, but then his face changes and he sweeps me in a hug. “You are real.”

 _I’m real?_ What does that mean?

I did not expect the hug. But of course I don’t mind, I have never been hugged by Simon before. There’s no greater feeling than being imbelled in his scent and _him_. I’ve never experienced something so tender…

I try very hard to keep the tears from welling up.

When I pull away I look at him carefully.

Simon looks all wrong. If I haven’t known every single detail about Simon Snow I couldn’t be sure if it’s even him. He looks different, too composed. His eyes are too still. 

Simon Snow is known for wearing his heart on his sleeve.

He’s a true enigma now… I can't be sure what exactly it means. However, it doesn’t bode well. I can understand that much.

I dismiss it all for now. He’s here. I hug him this time and hold him tight against me. I breath in his scent and him again to prove to myself Simon is really here, to prove _he’s_ real.

I look like a barbarian next to him. Simon is wearing slacks, a bottom-up and a vest under a thin kashmir coat. His clothing consists of a few variations of grey.

All these details in the way he is, the way he acts make no sense...

”Are you alright?” I ask, trying not to let worry be visible on my face. Nothing seems alright about him.

”Yes, of course. It’s a good day, especially since you’re here, ” Simon says and I smile involuntarily at those words.

”You can smile like that — while your eyes are still open. Baz, I had no idea, you could do that,”

Simon says and looks surprised, there’s a smile lit on his face for a split second. 

_Could do that?_ What does he mean?

”What do you mean, Simon?”

”Well, you only smile with eyes closed, I’ve never seen you do it differently. I like this better,” he says and another quick smile flashes on his face and then one a bit longer.

If I didn’t know any better I’d say Simon is mirroring my smile.

”When did you see me do that last time?” I ask cautiously. Is there something wrong with his memories?

”This morning, I think was the last time. Yes, I’m quite sure it was this morning around ten,” Simon answers with another longer smile.

_This morning?_

Aleister Crowley, what is happening to you, Simon?

My heart contracts uncomfortably as I hear and see that… However, Simon gives me another hug and I lose myself in him...

 _I’ve gotten you back, Simon,_ I think to myself. _I’ve finally gotten you back…_

And I did get him back, even though I’m not sure how much of Simon _is_ left. There’s so much emptiness inside him and I can almost feel that something crucial is missing.

I’m not sure if I feel that with some kind of odd vampire senses, mage senses or simply because I _know_ him, I’ve carried Simon inside my own heart for seven years.

I can’t think about that right now. 

Instead I think about his new demeanor or how happy I am to be this close to him, because it’s easier to think about that then to why there is _still_ _emptiness_ inside my heart or why there is something missing around even though I hold Simon near. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been intense with this fic and in my head... It will take a while for the next part of the series to be written, sorry about that. But there will updates, always! 💙

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. 😎


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